


Conflict of Interest

by thecowscamehome



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Childhood Trauma, Client confidentiality, Creepy Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter), Explicit Language, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Hisoka's Bungee Gum Nen Ability (Hunter X Hunter), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It would be if Hisoka cooperated, LGBTQ Themes, Lemon, Lime, Manipulation, Nen (Hunter X Hunter), Nonbinary Character, Personality Disorder, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Smut, Therapy, This was gonna be a crack fic but he said no, Top Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter), Toxic Relationship, therapist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26458171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecowscamehome/pseuds/thecowscamehome
Summary: One day, on a whim, Hisoka walks into a therapy clinic.Like with most things he does, everybody else has to deal with the consequences.Or: Dr Nacyri Fie must figure out how to extricate herself from a toxic situation without her colleagues being killed as collateral. Bonus points if she can conduct some actual therapy in the process.
Relationships: Hisoka (Hunter X Hunter)/Original Character(s), Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 222
Kudos: 206





	1. We Would Make Better Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a serious of one-shots, WHOOPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Something is off,  
>  I feel like prey,  
> I feel like praying...  
>  _\- Prey, The Neighbourhood_  
> **   
> 

The first time Hisoka Morow walked into her office, he was preceded by an ominous text: _New client coming your way. Looks like a handful…_

Dr Nacyri Fie sighed and sent a quick reply to her receptionist, Sari, in appreciation. Working in therapy necessarily had its ups and downs - you were dealing with the extremes of humanity on a daily basis, even more so in a city like Isbire - but it was always nice to be warned first. 

She set her phone aside and smoothed the grey fabric of her pants, listening for footsteps that never came. Instead, Nacyri was surprised by a knock on the door that somehow managed to sound insolent. 

“Come in,” she called, keeping her voice pleasant. Professional. 

The light honey wood of the door swung inwards, obscuring her newest patient for one last moment. Then a pale, elegant hand with nails like claws pressed it shut. The click echoed with a strange finality in the bright, cheery space. 

“Hisoka Morow?” Her first impression was of curated attractiveness. Intensely styled red hair seemed to exist to defy gravity. Pale stylistic makeup highlighted a sharp bone structure and an expressive mouth. _High attention to detail…_ she thought. The star and teardrop symbols painted on their cheeks were immaculate, the wings of their eyeliner sharp and thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs. _A desire for control manifesting as a hyper-awareness regarding their physical image._ They'd even posed, hip cocked and head tilted, so she could take them in at their best angles. 

Her patient hummed in confirmation, citrine gaze trailing over her, taking stock, almost sizing her up too, like they were opponents before a match. 

“First of all, I’d like to confirm your pronouns. How do you want me to refer to you?” They were dressed colourfully, the outfit specific and themed. _Attention-seeking?_ Red card suits were emblazoned across a black crop top, paired with white harem pants and accented with hot pink. Finally, her eyes landed on aubergine heels. Relatively practical - considering the loudness of the outfit, she’d half-expected stilettos. But then, why hadn’t she heard the footsteps? They should have echoed on the tiles. Why it bothered her, she wasn't sure, but it did. 

“Daddy.” The word was sultry and teasing as it was abrupt. Hisoka didn't even bat an eyelid.

It derailed her train of thought, but only for a heartbeat. _Inappropriately sexual._ “Does that mean you prefer he/him pronouns?” Her voice was calm and unruffled. She could play therapist even with her emotions in turmoil: a professional to the end. 

Hisoka re-examined her, from her olive skin to her black eyes and hair colourless as snow. The pearl grey of her tasteful silk pant-suit brought out the warm undertones in her skin, but apart from that she was his polar opposite: reserved monochrome against a passionate explosion of colour. “Yes,” he said finally, a small smile on his face. 

A tension that should have dissipated with his response stubbornly remained. He still hadn’t moved since entering the room, dominating it with his height. Was it intentional? Probably. 

Nacyri gestured to the soft emerald couch and chair set, “Please, sit where you like. It’s best to be in a position where you feel comfortable.” 

He tilted his head, a sudden gleam in his eyes as he zeroed in on her legs. “Hmm? Well, I prefer to be on top, but I’ve been told I also make an excellent power bottom.” He sauntered towards her chair, heels noiseless on the white, shaggy rug. "It's good to be flexible. Wouldn't you agree?" 

She sighed internally, irritated as she caught his intention. Sari had been right - this was going to be a nightmare. Hisoka had been here for exactly two minutes and he was already waging a war of nerves. Nacyri crossed her legs, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m sorry, Mr Morow, but my lap doesn’t count as furniture. Though you may sit on the rug, if you choose.” 

Rebellion flickered in his eyes at her continuing nonchalance. He must have seen it as a challenge to rise to. _I hate the ones who play power games…_ Of course, if it got actually dangerous she had her Nen - it’s probably why Sari had assigned him to her. But still… This was going to be a long session. 

He bent forwards at the hips, back perfectly straight, until their faces were level. She raised an eyebrow in wordless response. “I asked the receptionist to assign me the most attractive therapist they had.” Nacyri wanted to laugh, imagining Sari’s reaction to _that_ particular request. “She did not disappoint.” 

“Thank you,” she replied. He seemed to be looking for an interesting reaction. Overt emotion would encourage him, but too much impassivity would only cause him to push further. Accepting the compliment was a small concession between the two. “But you still cannot sit on my lap.” 

The temptation flickered again. Nacyri kept her breathing even, matching his intense stare, preparing to activate her Hatsu if the need came. But as quickly as it came, the danger seemed to pass. He snapped upright with a flourish, sauntering to the opposite side of the room. 

_Shows impulsivity, but does exert some control… Value prioritisation?_ Perhaps. It would help more if she knew what, exactly, his values _were_ (though she was starting to get a general idea). 

The tall man collapsed gracefully onto the couch, sighing dramatically. He looked a little ludicrous against the green. Actually, it was almost impressive, how he managed to clash with nearly everything in this entire space. “I thought you were a shrink. Aren’t you supposed to pat me on the head and tell me that my mother actually did love me?” 

“I don’t know,” Nacyri countered. “Did she?” 

He shot her a dark look, the tiniest bit of bloodlust leaking from him. 

_Complicated maternal relationship…_ “What about your father, then?” she asked. 

Somehow, Hisoka managed to look even sourer. “That’s a rather personal question, Doc.” 

“This is therapy,” she deadpanned. “Asking personal questions is my job. You’re the one refusing to collaborate.” _Sensitivity regarding an apparently complicated childhood…_

His eyes roamed the room, darting between the colourful pieces of abstract art. “Did you decorate this place yourself?” he asked. _Displays avoidance behaviours when faced with uncomfortable subjects…_ “I’ve never been inside a therapist’s office before.” 

“And it shows,” Nacyri whispered under her breath. Those lovely, beautiful eyes returned to her instantly, an amused smile appearing, and she stiffened. He shouldn’t have heard that from across the room. The words had been barely audible. How keen were his senses, exactly? 

“Some fire appears,” he looked immensely pleased with himself. “I was beginning to think you were all ice, Doc. Are you usually this cold?” 

“Are you usually this intrusive?” Nacyri turned it back on him. ...Maybe she wasn’t so good at playing unaffected. There was just something about Hisoka that was unsettling… Not that she could ever let him _know_ that: he'd likely be absolutely delighted. “Can you remember when that started?” Her voice was a touch too sassy. She was doing a poor job at therapy - everything had gone wrong from the moment he’d stepped into her office - but right now this wasn’t therapy. This was a game of chicken. And she couldn’t stifle the uncomfortable feeling that she was going to lose. 

His laugh was soft, almost a hum, “I’ve always liked the expressions people make when they get angry. It’s especially fun when they can’t do anything about it. All that wonderful, useless rage...” 

She blinked, caught off-guard. She hadn’t expected an answer, let alone an honest one. Because it _sounded_ honest. “It started early, then.”

He hummed flippantly, examining the ceiling. 

Nacyri attempted a question. “Do these situations make you feel powerful?” Would he play along? 

"Naturally," he said. 

"Is it, perhaps, a compensatory mechanism?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, when you were a child, did you ever feel helpless or unable to defend yourself? Individuals who seek out power over others tend to have experienced abuse themselves."

Gem-like eyes slid towards her again. Yellow was, among other things, a colour of caution. It suited him, since his gaze was a warning. Again, that casual promise of violence. He seemed well-acquainted with it. _Possible physical abuse?_

The psychologist sighed out loud, this time. “Why did you come here today?” 

Her patient - if she could even consider him that, since he clearly didn’t - shifted to a sitting position, crossing his long legs. “I was bored and came inside on a whim. I’ve never had a therapist before.” He examined his dagger-like manicure, licked his lips to make the double entendre even more painfully obvious. “I admit it’s been a little disappointing, so far.” 

“I see,” Nacyri studied him, losing hope fast. Therapy was great, but only if the patient was actually willing to work with her. If all Hisoka wanted was sex, she wouldn’t bother pressing him to come to another session. If she’d wanted to be sexually harassed at work, she’d have forgone the eight years of university and become one of the countless strippers in Isbire's seedy underground. “What would you like to get out of this session? _Apart,_ ” she added at his lascivious grin, “from a very inappropriate sexual encounter.” 

“Inappropriate is my middle name,” Hisoka purred. 

“Really?” The sarcasm was thick. She needed to tone it down. “It’s not included in your file.” 

He hummed as he thought, tilting his pretty face. “What about showing me your Nen? I’ll answer some of your silly questions if you do.” 

There was a strange hunger to his features. Nacyri might normally have considered the request simply for the sake of making some progress, but his anticipation struck her as unhealthy… for her. “I don’t use my Hatsu unless it’s absolutely necessary.” The rejection was polite. 

The man stood from the couch. “You’re not being very _collaborative_.” He twisted the word in his mouth like it was a cherry stem. Stepped forward in those aubergine heels. “I’m willing to make you a deal. I’ll do the therapy thing if you give me a taste.” Barely repressed bloodlust leaked onto her, a heavy emphasis on the ‘lust’ component. 

Her face hardened. _Fucking hell._ This was moving well past sexual harrassment and into attempted rape. “Don’t touch me,” she warned. 

But instead of heeding her warning, Hisoka's face lit up. “Yes! That’s the _look_ ,” he groaned. “Mmmm, you’re gorgeous like that.” He was within arm’s distance and coming closer. 

His left hand came to rest on the back of her chair, caging her head as the clawed tips of his right glided across her cheek. 

Nacyri glared at him openly now. “This session is over,” she told him. “Please, leave.” 

“ _Make me_ ,” he breathed. His bloodlust flared. “Show me your Nen.” 

“No.”

His nails pressed into her cheek. “Why not?” 

“Because I’m annoyed,” her voice was trembling with irritation. Her heart was beating incredibly fast, her prey instincts screaming at her. She'd had patients in the midst of psychotic episodes come at her with knives, yet he'd somehow managed to make her feel weak with some mild killing intent and a few sexual overtures. “And you can’t have everything you want.” 

Hisoka nodded, his hair bobbed behind him. “Not everything,” he agreed, “but you take what you can, hmmm?” 

And he tightened his fingers on her jaw before kissing her. 

_That’s it,_ Nacyri thought. Bloodlust was worrying thick in the air. His lips were demanding, but experienced. His tongue pressed against her, begging for an opening. Which she gave him, bringing her hands to his face. The makeup was slightly oily beneath her touch. He made a surprised noise of pleasure, surging forward. He was a good kisser, she recognised dimly. She might have enjoyed it if he hadn’t forced it on her like a fucking asshole. At her _workplace_ , of all things. 

The conditions were fulfilled. 

Nacyri activated Pacify, her aura sparking to life. It swirled down her fingers in a rush, flowing into his body from where she touched. He tensed, hands coming to hers and flinging them away, but it was too late. Her teal coloured aura ate away at his bloodlust, at all the dark emotions in his body, until there was nothing but a soft smile on his face. 

“Fuck,” Hisoka sounded almost giddy. She could understand the whiplash - the switch was very sudden. “My bloodlust, it’s…” He tried to frown but couldn’t, the smile growing wider. “I should kill you right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m not even annoyed that you pulled such a sneaky little trick.” He stared at her in wonder. “You could slit my throat right now, and all I can do is smile.” 

“I could, but I won’t,” Nacyri was less than amused. She wiped her mouth, pale makeup coming off on her hand. She pressed her palm to his chest, guiding him backwards. “Because, unlike _somebody_ , I don’t take advantage of vulnerable people.” 

“I…” Delight coloured his laughter. “I think this is the most terrifying ability I’ve ever seen.” His eyes had an almost dreamy quality to them, the pupils blown wide. “It’s so much better than drugs. Do you charge people for hits?”

She picked up her phone, dialling for Sari. “No, because that is highly unethical. I constructed Pacify to help calm distressed or uncontrollable patients.” 

“ _Pacify…_ ” he repeated, smiling goofily. It looked completely wrong on his sensual face. She didn’t care. “I love it.” 

Sari picked up after the second ring, “Is everything okay?” 

Nacyri sighed, “Yeah, can you ask security to escort him out?” 

His head snapped up at her words. “Wait, how long does it last?” His features were attempting to contort into something resembling horror. He knew he should be uneasy, but was unable to reach for the fear. She’d taken it all away. “I’m a fighter at Heaven’s Arena. I have,” he giggled, “ _a lot_ of enemies. They’ll kill me like this.” 

Nacyri licked her lips, beeping in her ears. Sari, efficient as she was, had already hung up to request aid.

Normally, she’d tell him to deal with it, that these were the consequences of him being a rapey bastard, but he was technically her patient. They were still technically in session. If he was injured, he could sue the practise and - if he really was a bigshot at Heaven’s Arena - he could sue for a lot. It was just her luck: Nacyri had helped fighters from the Arena before, but they were all mid-tier and relatively sane (relative to him, at least). Now, she not only had to deal with a psycho, but a _wealthy_ psycho. The woman sighed, “I’ll ask security to escort you all the way to your room there. It should wear off in about five hours.” 

“Thank you.” He was examining his hands with a sharp interest that contrasted the softened lines of his mouth. 

A phrase she’d never expected to hear. She examined him again. Her Hatsu’s effects never ceased to amaze her. With all the negative emotions taken away, Hisoka was almost a completely different person. There was an edge to him that had been buffed away. 

“Can I have sex like this?” he asked. 

_That’s more like it_ , she thought wryly, watching his hands running down his body to smooth his thighs.

His head cocked, “Feels like a ‘yes’.” 

_Methodical. Intelligent…_ Irritatingly so. Things might have been a bit easier if he wasn’t so damned perceptive. “Pacify offsets emotions like anger, bloodlust, envy, fear, and sadness, whilst leaving your faculties intact. You could have sex like this but, considering your previous concern regarding enemies in the Arena, I’d choose your partner wisely. If they go too far or refuse to respect your boundaries, you won't be able to access the cautionary mechanisms needed to defend yourself.” 

“Offsets?” 

Nacyri clenched her fists. He’d noticed. She should have been more careful in choosing her words before such a perceptive man. “The emotions have to go somewhere,” she replied flatly. 

His eyes widened. “How noble of you,” he stepped a little closer. “So you have to process the emotions you steal from your victims?” Nacyri cringed at the word 'victims'. He stepped even closer. Those purple heels, she was starting to seriously dislike them. “You’ll feel intimately what I feel on a daily basis. I find that possibility rather… enthralling.” Indeed, he looked like a man in love - or something at least close to it. His fingers closed around her wrist, stroking at the soft skin there. The touch was uncharacteristically gentle. “How much do I pay to see the aftermath?” 

Nacyri shivered, staring up at him. Even in the tight grip of Pacify, Hisoka had issues. It only reinforced how important it was to keep him away. Nacyri was not getting paid enough to deal with this mess. All the money in the world was not enough to tempt her. As for his offer... “It’s not happening.” 

His thumb kept tracing those distracting little circles into her wrist, nail occasionally gliding across her skin. It tickled just a little. “In that case, I should warn you,” his voice was soft. Pleasant. Somehow even more terrifying. “I’ve had an entire lifetime learning to control my desires. As fun as it would be to see you wreak havoc, I’m not sure your sweet little morals could stand the damage you might inflict on unsuspecting citizens. Remember, you’re a Nen-user. So find yourself somewhere private with reinforced restraints. My bedroom in the Arena would be suitable, but I fear you’ll remain unfortunately stubborn on that fact.” 

“You’re right.” Her chest was tight. Even artificial and partially coerced by her Nen, Nacyri recognised this as a kindness - as much kindness as he was capable of, anyway. But the very fact he felt the need to warn her made her blood run cold. Just how bad was it, truly? What kind of monster had Sari unwittingly directed through her door?

“A pity,” his voice sounded genuinely his. For an uncomfortable second, she wondered if he had somehow managed to break free. But that was impossible. Of course, her Nen had a deactivation mechanism, but she was not going to use it. She needed to make sure he was as far away from her as possible, and that she had adequate time to prepare. “What about video footage? I’ll answer every single question you have if you let me watch.” 

Almost tempting… Money didn’t move her (she had enough, thank you), but the psychologist in her wanted to break some ground. If not for Hisoka’s sake, then the rest of the world’s. But the moment she started bargaining was the moment she lost the upper-hand. Not that she’d really had it to begin with. “No.” Her decision was absolute. The world be damned, she could never let him see her in such a vulnerable state. 

Security knocked on the door before he could say anything else. “Come in,” she called. 

Clance and Itsumi entered the room, starting in surprise at them. And no wonder - they must have looked very odd together. Nacyri pried Hisoka’s teasing fingers off her wrist and passed him on to the boys, who took his broad, muscular shoulders firmly in hand. 

“He’s from Heaven’s Arena. I’d appreciate it if you escort him directly to his room. He can tell you the number himself when you get there.” 

"It's room 2032," Hisoka told her. 

"Thanks." Her voice was syrupy sweet. "I didn't ask." 

Itsumi nodded, “We’ll make sure he stays safe.” And she believed them. Itsumi, at least, was a former Arena fighter. Nacyri wondered if he recognised Hisoka - they both seemed to be wary of him, even under the influence of Pacify. 

“I appreciate it.” 

They tugged at Hisoka, who couldn’t do all that much to resist. Physically, he could, but mentally... The pink tear seemed to mock her as he twisted in their grip. “Bye bye,” he said gaily. “And have fun being me!” The door shut behind them, cutting off Hisoka’s final, adoring glance. 

She checked her watch. Fifty minutes until her next appointment. Almost five hours before she needed to be - according to Hisoka - restrained and rendered harmless. 

Dr Nacyri sank back into her chair, exhausted. 

It had been a long fucking ten minutes. _Ten._ It was going to be an even longer night. 

She reached for her phone, searching for Mitsuki. Dr Mitsuki Gratz was her long-time friend and contact at the hospital. They’d met at the university and quickly bonded over travel and the more quirky aspects of the human psyche. 

“‘Sup, Doc?” 

Nacyri sighed, “Mitsi, I need a favour.” 

“Really? Are you okay?” they sounded concerned. 

“I had to use my Hatsu on a patient, today. I think it’s going to be bad.” 

There was a long silence on the other end. “How bad?” 

“I’m-going-to-need-to-borrow-one-of-the-padded-cells-in-the-psych-ward kind of bad. The ones designed for Nen-users.” Nacyri stared at the ceiling. It was very white. Normally, she didn’t mind it, but right now the brightness was giving her a headache. 

“Fuck. Any idea on the type of crazy? Should we watch for self-harm, or...?” 

“I suspect he has, at very least, moderate-to-severe antisocial personality disorder,” Nacyri sank into her chair. “I’ll be more inclined to hurt others over myself so, unless I present an extreme risk, I’d advise you don’t interfere.” 

Mitsuki went quiet again. "Is it really going to be that bad? I know you hate stretching it out, but maybe processing it at less intensity for longer might be better for this one." 

"I… I have a feeling it’s going to be awful, regardless. I'd rather just process it at one hundred percent and get it over with as soon as possible. Also..." she hesitated. Was this the right decision? Maybe not. The very thought of it made her uncomfortable, but it was always better to have more bargaining chips than less. “Would it be possible to record the episode?” 

“What? Why?” 

“For research.” She kept her answers vague, because if they knew the truth, Mitsuki would throw an absolute fit. 

Her friend sighed, concern palpable. “Okay, I’ll get it organised. When should I expect you?” 

“I’ll be there straight after work,” Nacyri told them. “Roughly half past 5.” 

“Want me to buy you dinner afterwards?” 

“Sure.” Nacyri hung up and looked at the clock. Forty-five minutes to collect herself before her next appointment. She briefly contemplated taking a power nap, but decided against it. Being a therapist necessitated an ungodly amount of paperwork and the extra time she'd suddenly found herself with was a rare opportunity to catch up on some of it. 

The psychologist made it through her sessions with barely any mishap. It felt like a good day today - minimal break downs, relatively healthy crying, no violent fits. Maybe the world was trying to apologise for setting Hisoka loose on her. She bit at her lip anxiously - a terrible habit that left her lips perpetually chapped and bloody - at the thought of his sinister bloodlust. 6PM loomed on the horizon. Unfortunately, she was going to experience it first-hand.

The hospital was close enough that she didn’t bother with her car - she’d take longer in peak hour traffic than she would by simply walking.

Heaven’s Arena loomed over them, its proximity to the hospital a matter of course. It loomed like the shady monolith it was - the pride and sin of Isbire, its towering heights the very peak of the entertainment industry. She’d never been so aware of it before. Even if she knew logically that it was impossible, it felt like he was staring at her from whatever floor he lived on. The fighters who had come and gone from her couch hadn’t prepared her in the slightest: Hisoka had been her first true glimpse into the kind of monsters the Arena housed and glorified. If there were others like him… She shuddered. Maybe they were better off in the Arena, where they could indulge their desires in a controlled environment with minimal risk to innocent bystanders. It was far more preferable to them being out on the streets. 

The smog clogged the air, coating her lungs with soot. The incessant beeping of traffic played a chaotic melody as she fought crowds of pedestrians for the sidewalk. 

Ah, Isbire. Everything in the city was characterised in extremes. Rush hour was absolute hell, people swarming like ants as they fought to get themselves home but, by 9PM, the exhaust fumes cleared enough to see the sky and the emptied streets became blissfully quiet. Residents huddled in their homes alongside their families as they laughed over dinner and television. There was a leisure quarter, of course, not far away. It was mostly filled with tourists choking down D² on the the electric floors of nightclubs and looking to take advantage of the legal prostitution in the red light district. Like Heaven’s Arena, it was strategically placed around the hospital, because things tended to get violent after midnight. Gangs weren’t as much of a problem these days, mostly because they’d been swallowed one by one by the mafia who, unsurprisingly, owned almost all the nightlife in Isbire. But if you avoided getting strangled by the neon signs of strip clubs long enough to escape the leisure quarter and the central business districts, parks and green spaces lent the city peaceful places in which to rest. The restaurants were well-regulated and clean, the food diverse and delicious. Council-sponsored street artists reinvented classic landmarks and strategically transformed droll locations with colourful murals.

Really, as long as you didn’t step on the toes of a high-ranked mob boss, for a capital city it wasn’t too bad. 

The sky was fading to periwinkle as Nacyri arrived at her destination. Dr Gratz was waiting for her. “Hey Doc,” they said. 

“Hey Doc,” Nacyri replied with a soft smile. “You look good today.” 

Indeed, Mitsuki did. Under their white coat, they wore a light, emerald, high-necked sweater and black jeans that emphasised their slim waist. A short, peach undercut was carefully styled to the side. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, their eyelids were dusted with nude, shimmery powder. Small, tasteful combinations of gold jewellery studded their ears - nothing that an unruly patient could grab onto, though. Mitsuki had always looked less like a doctor and more like they should be discussing fine art at a gallery somewhere. “You too.” 

Nacyri laughed, “Yeah? Give me thirty minutes.” 

Mitsuki winced, taking the lead. The cool smell of disinfectant washed over the pair as they made their way past reception. “I wish you didn’t do this,” they told her, footsteps echoing on the mint linoleum floor. “I know you want to help them, but the cost is-” 

“I didn’t use it for altruistic reasons, this time,” Nacyri admitted. “He threatened me.” 

Her friend’s eyes widened. Gold. Just like… “You’re joking.” 

“I’m not.” She wished she was. 

“What about the police? You need to report the bastard.” Mitsuki rounded the corner and pressed the nearest button for the elevator. 

The psychologist brushed her white hair behind her ear as they waited for it to arrive. “Yeah so when I asked Sari about his contact details she told me that he paid for the booking using a Hunter License.” 

“Shit... Didn’t you say ASPD?” The elevator doors _dinged_ as they opened, and the two stepped inside. Nacyri selected the 3rd floor. She’d visited the psych ward enough times to not need reminding. 

“I know.” It was the most frustrating thing that had happened today. She could report to the police, but even the police had to bow down to the Hunter Association. And the Association was notorious for handling conflicts internally, if at all. “They basically gave a psychopath _carte blanche_ with virtually no consequences. He’s also a fighter at the Arena.” 

“He is?” Those golden eyes widened. Their colour didn’t bother Nacyri as much as she thought they would. For one, Mitsi’s eye shape was completely different - soft, round, and kind, bordered by thick, pale lashes. Hisoka’s eyes were deep set and elegantly tapered upwards, with luxurious lids that could have made him famous in the makeup industry. “Would I know of him?” 

Nacyri shrugged. “You know I don’t watch the matches… so I’m not sure.” She tore at her bottom lip with her teeth unconsciously, stripping even more skin, “Besides, he’s still technically my client.”

“Who _threatened_ you,” Mitsuki crossed their arms. “Client confidentiality doesn’t mean shit if he broke your trust first. Out the bastard.” 

“Um,” Nacyri fiddled with the hem of her pantsuit jacket, “I think I’ll keep his name to myself for a bit and lodge a complaint with the Association.” 

“Hmmmmm...” They led her through the elevator doors as they arrived at the third floor. “Look, I respect your decisions, Nas. You’re a big girl. You know what you’re doing.”

Normally, Nacyri would have agreed.

There was something that always felt a little different about the psych ward. It felt cooler, somehow. Perhaps because of the intensity of the emotions felt here, emotions that Nacyri had felt personally. 

Pacify followed the law of conservation of mass. The emotions that she ate from a patient (she hated that he’d used the word ‘victim’) had to be processed by her. It did allow her some leeway - the option to process it at a lower percentage for a longer period of time - but she had to specify this at the very start of the process. Once she was in processing mode, she stayed in it until she was finished. Nacyri usually didn’t take this option, but if a patient had an extremely bad episode, she’d usually process it at ten or twenty percent and take a few days off to decompress. 

But Hisoka… She wanted to get him out of her as fast as possible. 

A heavy reinforced door seemed to appear from nowhere and Nacyri realised she’d let her attention wander. 

Mitsuki watched her in apprehensive silence, alarmed at the sight of their normally sharp friend so distracted. “Nas, are you sure?” 

Nacyri nodded. The door swung open eerily with her push. The beyond gaped. “I’m going to need the padded restraints. Fixed to the wall with no reach, so I can’t harm anybody.” _Or myself._ Nacyri stepped inside the room and felt it swallow her whole. “I’m going to undress in case I ruin my outfit.” She shrugged off her jacket and handed it to Mitsi. She also kicked off her shoes. 

“Do you want scrubs?” 

Nacyri looked at her watch, before removing that too. “I don’t think I have the time.” She slipped her silk shirt over her head and shimmied off her pants before walking to the wall. There were restraints fixed about a half metre off the ground. She sat in between them, her thin black lingerie exposed, and waited as Mitsi pulled out the keys. 

“I’ll ask them to make it a little warmer in here, then,” her friend promised, deftly fixing her into the restraints. “Do you want me to do your legs?” 

Nacyri went to shake her head, then rethought. “Yeah, but the ones with chains. I want to be able to change positions if I get uncomfortable.” Five hours was a long time, after all. Her left ankle was secured, then her right, until she was finally bound. “How much time left?” 

“When did you use your Hatsu?” 

“Around 1:05,” Nacyri guessed.

“About five minutes, then.” Mitsuki began making her way towards the door, “I’ll check to make sure it’s recording. What do you want to eat after this?” 

The psychologist tried to think five hours ahead. It felt like a lifetime away. Unable to truly think about it, she decided randomly. “Kukan’yun? I want carbs. Lots of veggies, lots of noodles, and chicken.” 

Her friend smiled softly in the doorway, beautiful and calming in greens and golds. Not the vibrant riot of colours of a certain someone. “I’ll have it waiting. Good luck.” 

Which left Nacyri all alone in the white room, with nothing but her - and soon his - demons. _Is it enough?_ She examined the manacles stretching out her arms. Gave them an experimental tug. She felt a thrill of anxiety. Surely, it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d warned her, but it wasn’t as if she’d never had to calm herself down from other people’s rage. 

_Maybe it was an exagge-_

And then, her time ran out. Her Hatsu gave her a warning shiver before it hit her but, despite bracing for it, she was completely unprepared. 

It was instantaneous and intense. Her thoughts turned sharp and deadly. Like blades she was too inexperienced to handle, they cut her mercilessly. A desire to trample the whole world under her feet - to break and destroy - took hold, melting her insides into a boiling soup until they began to seep, warm and thick, from her core. It was awful, like she was constantly being torn by vicious desires far greater than anything she’d felt before. Like there was some primal beast inside her that had been sleeping quietly, until it had woken up starving and violent. And yet there was a part of her that felt that this was it. This was the closest she could get to life at its most primordial: the line between pleasure and pain, destruction and creation, the absolute chaos at the beginning and end of the world. 

She yanked at her bonds with Nen-reinforced limbs, a feral scream of frustration at being restrained like a wild fucking animal shredding her vocal cords. Deep bruises were already forming despite the padding, but the cold metal refused to yield. When it held, she began to cry instead. She was stuck here, with no escape from the madness dancing beneath her skin. 

For the next five hours, Hisoka’s desires set her on fire. 


	2. But Since You're Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Don't turn out the lights,  
>  Kiss yourself goodnight,  
> 'Cause there's a killer,  
> And he's coming after you...  
>  _\- Killer, The Hoosiers_  
> **   
> 

The cold water warmed up quickly on her fingers as she massaged her forehead. Dark eyes stared back at her from flushed cheeks, the fan of white lashes catching the light of the bathroom, glowing faintly. Fast, heaving breaths slowly steadied with the minutes. 

_Another one…_

Another day, another dream. Or, more accurately, a memory distorted by unconsciousness.

The shackles around her wrists and ankles were the same, the clinical, pillowy whiteness was the same, the bloodthirsty chaos inside her was the same; really, the only difference was the most significant one. 

Nacyri closed her eyes, jaw clenching as she recalled that violent flash of strawberry. Even if it was only in her dreams, he'd suited the padded cell far more than he’d ever suited her office. “What should I do?” he’d teased, seated across from her. His hard forearm had rested against his knee, his other leg tucked beneath him as he watched her like an animal at the circus. She’d long since stopped thrashing, but the explosive need for violence was so overwhelming that, when the restraints forced her into stillness, her body still trembled with it. “Look at you, so out of control with all these borrowed needs. Should I set you free?” Aura swarmed to his hands - why need a blade when he had daggers at his fingertips?

“Please…” her voice had been hoarse. 

“But of course. How could I not oblige such a sweet request?” 

“ _No_ _…_ Please… don't. I can’t...” 

Hisoka had ignored her, finally moving from his position. Muscles strained beneath alabaster skin as he stretched, the shapes fluid, the movements flexible.

Her body had surged forward eagerly even as she tried to force herself back and _away_. Eyes had fluttered closed, a final protest against the touch on her left wrist. “Gorgeous,” was the whisper she heard from the figure above her. Nacyri stiffened. The voice different - not sensual, not teasing, but whisper thin and horrifyingly familiar.

Her eyes had snapped open to find Hisoka gone. Instead, her own face stared back.

The shackles had fallen to the floor with dulled, chilly _plinks_. 

_Ugh..._ Another splash of cold water shocked her back to the present. “Don’t read into it,” the psychologist warned her dripping reflection, the thick pale eyebrows furrowing. Sharp cheekbones and a high forehead made her face a study of chiaroscuro, softened only by the almond shape of her eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. “Dreams are unreliable.” She could almost hear Professor Tristram scowling in his cluttered university office from half a continent away, as if he could somehow hear the foolish thoughts drifting about in her foolish head.

She shouldn’t be dreaming - or even thinking - about Hisoka Morow. Not when it’d been over a week since their encounter. Since he seemed like the type to chase his interests obsessively, Nacryi was hoping that his apparent lack of interest meant he’d found other things to play with. Of course, she couldn’t blindly accept that, when she still wasn’t sure what his motives were towards her. What he wanted, well… Hopefully, Nacyri would never have to find out. 

Part of her rebelled - the part of her that obsessed over finding answers and slotting the pieces into a cohesive whole - but her better judgement was quick to remind her of the crazy burning inside him. She needed to do her best to stay out of his field of vision. Her wrists and ankles were so traumatised that, despite her Nen-boosted recovery, the bruises had yet to fade. But they would - with time. And if, by some blessing, Hisoka had let her go, then she needed to do the same. Needed to let the bruises fade without prodding at them further. 

She dabbed away the excess water from her face with a fresh towel, reaching for her water-based serums. Nacyri hated how mascara felt on her eyes and had a general disregard towards makeup, but she was meticulous when it came to skincare. She dissected ingredient lists with the same focused intensity she’d used on donated brains in the university lab. Nen helped to slow the effects of aging, but it didn’t do anything for hyperkeratosis. Besides, there was something incredibly peaceful about the routine: the strict succession of pH, the coffee she indulged in while she waited for the BHAs to settle, her fingers massaging the tension from her face using oils full of essential nutrients… Mitsuki, with their irritatingly perfect skin, often laughed at her zeal; yet showed just as much dedication towards their eternally shade-shifting hair.

She moved from water-based serums to her favourite facial oil, giving it another fifteen minutes before applying moisturiser. Usually, this was the part of her morning that brought her the most peace. Except, today, the word ‘gorgeous’ kept echoing in her head, frequently bringing her thoughts to a stutter.

The distractions persisted as she dressed, selecting a loose lilac maxi dress with sleeves that covered her bruises, shrugging on her grey trench coat. Lavender socks were bunched over heeled boots to hide the marks on her ankles. She finished by bundling her long hair into an easy bun and checked her reflection with a look of satisfaction. Just your average, relatively chic inner-city working woman. Nothing to attract the uncomfortable attention of the Arena’s resident harlequin. 

When Nacyri finally had the sense to check her watch, she froze in panic. _Shit,_ she cursed mentally.

She’d wasted precious time fretting, which meant settling for a travel-mug coffee and a fruit pastry whilst hurrying for the elevator. She held the brown pastry bag between her teeth as she mashed the silver buttons. Her apartment was the fifth floor and her car was in the basement. In other words: _I’m going to be so late..._

Traffic was as frustrating as usual, but the public transport system was somehow, amazingly, worse, so she bore it with barely-restrained impatience. Ivory teeth stripped skin from her lip as Nacyri hypocritically cursed at assholes while pulling equally rude manoeuvres. She sipped at her coffee whenever she could, leaving the pastry untouched. Dr Fie needed caffeine more than she needed carbs, especially if she was going to handle the incessant beeping of a typical Isbire morning with any kind of grace. 

A dozen traffic violations and half an hour later and she was dragging herself through the front doors of the clinic, pastry-containing paper bag in hand. The day had barely begun, but she was already tired. She needed more caffeine.

“Morning! Sorry, I know I’m late!” she called at the honey wood reception desk. Her voice, initially jovial, changed when she saw its occupant. “Are you okay?” 

Sari flinched, her oval face visibly distressed. “You’re here,” she said and made a visible effort to pull herself together. A fake smile seemed to mock the sweetness of her natural one. It was uncomfortable to watch. “Good. Your morning client asked if they could see you a bit earlier today.” The girl tucked midnight hair behind a bejewelled ear, clutching her cellphone nervously. Her gaze darted to the blank screen, like she was waiting for a text. 

“Alexis? But she hates waking up before 7AM…" The psychologist trailed off. "Ah well, that’s fine. I can shuffle appointments around.” Rescheduling wasn’t important right now. Nacyri tried to remember if Sari had mentioned anything recently that might be the cause of today’s unhappiness. Relationship issues? An ill family member? “Did something happen? I’m in a bit of a rush this morning, but I can spare a bit of time if it’s urgent. Just don't tell the Ethics Board about the conflict of interest.” It was a terrible joke - could barely even be considered an attempt at humour - but, miraculously, it worked. 

“You are…” Sari gave her a look of exasperation mixed with fondness. “I appreciate it, Doc,” she said firmly, “but don't worry about me.” 

“Alright,” Nacyri replied dubiously, dissatisfied. The paper crinkled beneath her fingers. Something was off. 

Her black boots scuffed against the tiles as she strode to her office. She paused in front of the door, staring at the handle. Without reaching for her keys, she tested it. It refused to budge. Nacyri sighed in relief, retrieving her keys from her pocket. She’d jumped to conclusions. She’d read the situation a little closely. 

...Her hand stilled once more.

Normally, she’d be satisfied, but a tiny bit of unease lingered.

She closed her eyes and focused on her aura, on the peaceful glide of it on her skin. She had been unconsciously withholding it using Ten, but now she pushed it outwards from her body, her awareness expanding as she spilled into the office. At first, everything felt fine. Motionlessness. Her aura brushed against the couch, her rug, the desk, tickled the spider calmly spinning its web in the most distant corner. Then, there was movement. The tiniest of vibrations that no human could hide. A beating heart. The pulsing of blood. Another person might not have felt it, but Nacyri had always been sensitive. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said. The pieces fell together quickly. 

Nacyri pushed open the door, striding into her office, and-

The door shut on its own, because Hisoka fucking Morow was sitting in her chair. 

“I told Sari to refuse you if you came by. Did you threaten my receptionist?” she demanded angrily. 

Hisoka smiled indulgently, taking her in. His clothes appeared to be less an outfit and more a costume, since he was wearing the same hot pink and black ensemble as before. The bright green star and pink tear punctuated his pale face. “Only a little,” he crooned finally. A playing card appeared in his hands with a flourish, looking oddly menacing. The Joker seemed to mock her from halfway across the room. “I told her that I’d kill her and everybody in the building if she didn’t let me through. The good girl chose wisely.” 

“Mr Morow…” 

“Hisoka,” he corrected, annoyingly unperturbed. “I told you that I’d do your therapy if you gave me a taste of your Nen. How else was I supposed to make an appointment?” 

“You _weren’t_ ,” she emphasised, crossing her arms. “I thought I made it clear. I will not see you.” 

“But _I_ want to see _you_ ,” he countered. The playing card became five with a flick of his long clever fingers, which he used to fan himself lazily.

_So, he actually does magic tricks?_ Nacyri frowned at herself for the momentary distraction. _Not important._ “Do you want me to force you to leave?” 

Hisoka wagged his finger at her, like she was some naughty child. “I thought it was odd when you didn’t push me off. You need to be touching your victim with both hands for your Hatsu to activate. Alas, I’m keeping my desires to myself this time. If you try to touch me, I’ll assume you’re about to use your Nen and I’ll kill you.” The promise of death fell from his mouth sweetly, as though he’d promised her kisses instead. 

“I only need to touch you the first time,” Nacyri rebuffed coolly. He'd said 'victim' again. “Now, I can Pacify you whenever I choose.” 

His expression darkened. There was no visual tell - he was too controlled for that - but she didn’t need Gyo to know the cards had become stiff with his deadly aura. Were they his weapon of choice? It made sense. They were versatile, theatrical, and fit his chosen aesthetic perfectly. 

“Be logical, Hisoka,” she warned. “Which do you think is faster? My thought or your throw?”

It was obvious. As fast as he was, her thoughts were faster and, while she had a decent chance at dodging his blow, he could not escape her Nen ability.

She watched him calculate his odds with the efficiency of a casino croupier. Having arrived at the situation's natural conclusion, he relaxed again, settling himself back into her chair, stroking the armrests. She frowned at him, at the obvious power play. 

_That’s right,_ the psychologist thought. _This is all a game to him_... Just like the table master he had reminded her of. Well, she could play a round. “I need to get to my computer,” she said. Her pastry was still in her hand, which seemed ridiculous now. “Please, move aside.” 

He watched her walk towards him - motionless until the very last second, at which he gracefully gave way. The way his eyes trailed over her body, she half-expected to feel his hand gliding up her skirt the moment she bent over to switch on her desktop monitor. 

The machine hummed to life, the screen flickering from black, to grey, and then to the standard opening screen demanding her password. Dr Nacyri hesitated slightly, turning to him. They were close like this, but still a manageable distance apart. Aureate eyes locked on hers, smile amused and playful, a challenge she didn’t mind. While she kept his gaze otherwise occupied, she touch-typed her password into the computer and hit enter. His smile widened.

The screen changed to the clinic logo, her files spread out across the screen. Nacyri gave it a cursory glance: everything was where it should be. 

She had expected as much: even if he had been after information all along, it was the clinic’s strictest policy that nobody disclose their private passwords. Hisoka couldn’t have threatened it out of Sari if he tried. Not that she thought he had, but she had to at least consider that he might have approached her for information on her other clients. Though Pacify gave her a taste of his more potent desires, it didn't let her read his mind or his motives… 

The wandering hand she’d been expecting appeared, but not _where_ she’d expected. In fact, by the time she understood, he’d already managed to pull up her sleeve. 

There was a low noise in his throat as those citrine eyes fixed on the purple bruises. They were vicious and ugly things, the damage accumulated over hours of yanking desperately at the wall. Yellow was beginning to tint them about the edges and scabs detailed where even the padding failed to prevent her skin from splitting open. “What a good girl you are.” He sounded unreasonably pleased with himself, if a bit strained. “I knew you’d heeded my advice, since there weren’t any reports of a killing spree.” The tips of his nails dimpled the skin at her wrist. “Bruises suit you, Doc.” 

The look on his face… It was unmistakably predatory. Nacyri tried to yank her hand away, but she was caught in his vice-like grip. 

“Ah- _ah_ , don’t run away now,” he tutted. “Not when you’ve worked so hard to appear unbothered by me.” 

_I am bothered,_ she wanted to say. _You bother me._ But she forced herself to calm. Willed the panicking prey animal inside her to still. “What do you want?” 

“How did it feel?” His face was pleasantly neutral but his eyes were aflame, two yellow suns that seemed to glow. She felt like he might just set her on fire with that terribly dangerous gaze. Again. 

“I’ll answer your question if you leave afterwards,” she replied.

He laughed, “You’re positively adorable, Doc.” Those nails pressed harder and she winced. “I’ll consider it.” 

The ache was carefully kept from her voice. “I’m serious. My first patient will be here in ten minutes. I need to prepare and you need to be gone.” 

“It won’t be a problem if I just kill them,” he joked. 

Her heart squeezed painfully. Nacyri didn’t find it funny. At all. “Mr Morow…” The threat was clear. She really didn’t want to use Pacify on him again, but she would. 

Apparently, Hisoka had also lost some of his patience. _“How did it feel?"_ Every word was staccato and precise. 

Nacyri sighed. “It was…” She had no words. She clenched her fist to stop it from visibly shaking, though he could probably feel the tremors through his fingers. She could still feel the intensity of his desires running through her body. It had burned so brightly that it’d turned her veins to ash. She’d wanted to rampage, to rend and tear, to gouge her existence into this world so deep it left a permanent scar. Her face had been wet with tears, her thighs so sticky that, when the madness left her, she’d had to clean her skin with shaking, embarrassed hands for fear of ruining her silk pants. She’d ached with the need to find someone worthy and dominate them utterly until the end. Blood or sex - for those hours, they were the same. Even the wounds on her wrists as she struggled free felt absolutely delicious. Until she came to her senses, of course. At that point, they just fucking hurt. “It certainly left an impression.”

Even just thinking about it made her feel open again. Vulnerable, like she’d been flayed and her nerves were exposed to the wind.

“I’m flattered,” he told her. “Tell me more.” 

“I… I can’t…” Nacyri shuddered. She never wanted to feel like that again… Probably. She wasn’t going to think about it. “How do you stand it?” she asked. “How do you stay sane?” 

“What part of me seems _sane_?”

Funnily, that was the question that brought her back to her senses. Helped her pull herself together just a bit.

She’d heard similar sentiments before in her work, from patients so immersed in their own damage that they couldn’t see outside of it. Perhaps, like them, Hisoka was drowning. Or maybe he'd learned how to swim. Maybe, he'd become the shark to avoid being eaten alive. “Taking into account what I experienced, I’d consider you amazingly sane.” 

He focused on his bloodlust to drown out everything else, but she’d noticed a subtle undercurrent of emotions: beneath the rage, repressed grief and bitter, resigned loneliness. He might not even realise that the traces lingered, but they were there. Now that she’d felt it so viscerally, she couldn’t help but want to do something about it. She was a healer, after all. It was in her nature. It was what made this so very hard. 

“It’s a pity you’re not interested in therapy.” 

He hummed. “On the contrary, Doc, I came to tell you I’d like to see you. Be my ‘therapist’.” The word dripped with mockery. 

“No,” she replied. It was exactly what she wanted to hear, but the words would poison her if she let them. 

“Such a cold rejection... I’m trying to compromise for you.” His mouth curved. “Isn’t that a therapy thing, hmmm? _Compromise?_ ” 

She huffed out a laugh. “You wouldn’t know compromise if it bit you on the ass.” _Domineering and egotistical as you are…_

“Oh, but I might,” his voice was mild and sensual. “Want to give it a try?” Hisoka used shockingly immense strength her wrist to pull her to him, away from her computer and the relative safety of her honey wood desk, until she was standing over him. A traditionally powerful position, their roles reversed from their first encounter, it bothered her that he still looked completely in charge. Sitting in her chair like that, his watchful golden gaze reminded her a little of standing before the Psychiatric Board, waiting for the verdict that would decide her future as a psychologist. 

She couldn’t help that the nerves fed her frustration. “Why are you here?” This time, when she pulled at her wrist, he actually let go.

“Don’t you remember? I paid to be here, Doc,” he told her. “But you kicked me out after ten minutes.” 

“You sexually harassed me and violated my consent,” Nacyri replied. 

“Because you were playing hard to g-”

She didn’t give him time to finish _that_ ridiculous sentence. “No. _Your_ actions brought our relationship to an end I don’t intend on reconsidering. Unless the court orders it, I only work with patients who actually want to get better. So please leave. I need to prepare for my first session.” 

“Doc,” his voice was dark. “You are going to see me for the fifty minutes you owe me…”

“I refuse.” 

“...Or I’m going to kill the next person who walks through that door.” It wasn't a joke this time. 

Her heart squeezed even further. Her first session of the day was rapidly drawing closer. Unless Sari decided to check on her, the next person through the door would likely be Alexis. _Alexis._ The girl had finally gotten a job and moved away from her abusive father. She was doing so well right now. Momentary panic bloomed in her chest until reason quashed it. “I can just use my Nen and remove you from the premises.” 

“Then I will come back,” Hisoka promised, “And, instead of the one, I will slaughter every person I find.” 

Anger burned inside her. He'd guessed correctly that threatening her wouldn't work and had skipped straight to threatening others. It was frightening, really, because she knew that this was one of the few times he'd actually keep his word. “I could just kill you.”

He sighed happily. Ridiculous little hot pink hearts suddenly broke free from his aura, pumping furiously. It was hugely disconcerting, given the context. “You could,” he agreed, “But will you? I have a Hunter’s License. What about your career? What about those fun little morals of yours? At best you could claim self-defence.”

The psychologist struggled to keep the fury off her face as a piece of his aura nuzzled her cheekbone. He had her cornered right now and he wasn’t giving her time to think. “Fine, I’ll give you your fifty minutes, but you’ll have to wait because my schedule is full today.” _I need to get him away from everybody else…_ “We’ll conduct it outside of the clinic.”

“Your place or mine?” His lashes fluttered. The stupid, pink little Nen hearts launched themselves furiously at each other, bouncing off again in a way that somehow managed to be vaguely suggestive. She wanted to strangle them. 

Nacyri frowned at him. “There is no way I’m ever letting you find out where I live.” 

"Oh?" Hisoka's beautiful face tilted with sudden interest. His voice was warm and pleasant, “Sounds like a fun challenge.” 

_Big mistake,_ Nacyri mentally kicked herself. _Oh well, that’s a problem for another day._

“What about Heaven’s Arena?” 

“Definitely not." For so many reasons. "I’m not going to conduct therapy in a private suite, let alone _your_ private suite.”

“Why, are you afraid?” 

Nacyri stared at him, “I’m concerned for my safety, yes.” Wasn't that obvious? 

“You shouldn’t be,” Hisoka dismissed, inspecting his nails again. She realised belatedly that they'd been painted an edgy black. “You’re one of the only people in the world who can so easily render me harmless. I’d have to get rather creative to hurt you.”

“That does _not_ comfort me.”

“It should,” he told her bluntly. “In fact, you should be flattered. I might be a little in love, even.”

“Hmmm…” her tone was disparaging. Love? It was laughable. She wondered if Hisoka had ever received love in his life. It was an awful but, unfortunately, realistic conclusion. Because monsters weren't born, they were _made_. Someone, or several someones, had shaped the man who sat so smugly before her. _In her damned chair._

“Do you get that often?” he asked, resting his pale elbows on the black leather armrests. “Patients falling in love with you?”

She glared at him, “Yes. They mistake what is a purely professional relationship for emotional intimacy.” Most people who came to therapy were not in a good headspace. Dr Nacyri Fie was a stable, supportive figure often unlike anything they'd ever experienced before. She created a safe environment for them to exist as themselves and listened to their deepest secrets. She shared their joys and afflictions. She was also relatively young and attractive. The resulting, misguided affection wasn't unexpected. 

“Ouch.” The monosyllable was almost suffocated by his insincerity. His Nen hearts spasmed before shredding apart in a bubblegum pink parody of heartbreak. 

She shrugged. “I’m not your mother, I’m not your lover. At most, I _might_ be your therapist.” 

“Indeed, you are,” he placed his hands on her hips. Nacyri brushed them off immediately before they could take root there, like noxious weeds on a dilapidated Isbirien sidewalk. “What about dinner?” 

Nacyri immediately disliked the idea, disliked the manufactured closeness of setting down to a meal, but she couldn't think of a preferable alternative. “Alright," she relented. "I’ll think of a suitable place.” Was it better or worse to meet in a public location? Perhaps better for her, worse for everybody else… She frowned down at him. 

"Leave it to me," he offered.

She opened her mouth to argue further. It wasn't a good idea to let him potentially prepare ahead for her. But then he tapped on his wrist, which suddenly sported her watch, eyes crinkling with the silent threat. When had he...? "Okay. Now give me my watch back." 

Hisoka slid it off his arm without protest. There was a certain point in every game, a time when you had to collect your winnings and cash them in, instead of pushing further and losing it all. This was that point and he knew it. “It’s a date.” 

“It is _not_ a date.”

The answering smile was insufferably jaunty. “It’s a date.” Hisoka pressed his palm to her chest, gently forcing her back as he stood. It was the exact same thing she’d done to him the week previously. Standing now in those purple heels, he towered over her, every centimetre of extra height used to its maximum. They were close enough to kiss. Nacyri watched the temptation danced across his thin, pretty features. If he tried it, she was going to punch him, ethics code be damned. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Don’t miss me too much, okay?” 

“I really won’t,” Nacyri deadpanned. “Also, I finish at 5.” Better to let him know, rather than give him an excuse to torment Sari more. 

He acknowledged her with a gracefully lazy hand and sauntered out of her office.

The door shut behind him. Oxygen seemed to reappear in the room.

Nacyri stayed like that for a few moments before sinking into her chair with a sigh, massaging her tight chest. The leather was still warm from him. She’d like to say that he disappeared as though he’d never been there, but that wasn’t the case: Hisoka had left his impression on her furiously beating heart and the nervous sweat in her palms.

He’d gotten well and truly under her skin this time… Was it because of her Hatsu? Because his emotions had pulsed and mingled with hers? 

She didn’t know. 

Whatever the reason, she didn’t like it. 

Nacyri wasn’t under the illusion that this was somehow a fair fight. Her morals, her ethics code, her patients and colleagues, her career - all of these things put her at a disadvantage, and they both knew it. She’d agreed to dinner to get him out of her office, away from vulnerable clients, but in the long-term it was a stupid decision. Hisoka didn’t do anything by halves - she knew that by now. He would ruthlessly use anything he could to press the advantage and get what he wanted. She couldn’t afford to encourage him, to give him... whatever it was that he sought from her. 

Tonight… Tonight, she had to end this as best as she could. Ideally, he would agree to never seek her out again, or commit fully to thera-

A soft, sudden knock on the door startled Dr Nacyri Fie from her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, inserting as much warmth into her voice as humanly possible. Her therapist persona appeared with the flick of the proverbial switch, her act almost rivalling Hisoka’s as a calm smile concealed her storming thoughts. 

Alexis poked her sweet, wry grin around the door. “Hi Nas,” she said. Her voice was tired but upbeat. Completely unaware that her life had been threatened mere minutes ago by a man she'd likely just passed in the hall. “I’ve had a week, let me tell you.” 

The very thought of them meeting, of those golden eyes picking her patient apart, sent shivers down the psychologist's spine.

“Then, by all means,” Nacyri crossed her legs and motioned the girl inside. “Tell me.”

_I need to snap out of it..._

She couldn’t be a fool and make room for him at the clinic. She couldn't afford to give him chances. She couldn’t be undecided when she negotiated terms, to be anything less than immovable.

Because he would take a mile for every single inch she gave him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know your thoughts! Constructive feedback is always welcome! 
> 
> Stay happy, stay cool, stay safe :)


	3. Why Don't You Stay Awhile?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Welcome to my cage, little lover  
>  Time to rearrange with you, baby  
> Still don’t know your name, Miss Sunny  
> Let’s go up in flames, pretty lady...  
>  _\- Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea,_  
>  _Missio_  
>   
> **   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... ugh... so tired. This chapter is kinda longer than I planned and I'm kinda nervous about it/the pacing. Ugh. I briefly considered splitting it in two but I couldn't find a place that felt appropriate. Anyway, I hope your enjoyment is proportional to the amount of stress I spent on it, lol. That would be fab. 
> 
> Also, it's my birthday on the 8th. Holla. 21 whole ass years. 
> 
> This story now comes with fanart! Check it out in the end notes!

The rest of the day, Dr Nacyri Fie was running off a nervous high. She actually forwent the extra coffee, simply because any more cortisol through her veins and she’d have to jog on the spot during sessions. 

Of all the stupid ideas she’d ever had in her life, this had to be the most stupid. Not that she’d really had a choice, but… Relenting to him immediately after he threatened her colleagues had shown her hand. She’d have to play it carefully during dinner, because the more she let on how much she cared for the people around her, the tighter he’d hold them in his fist. At worst, she would have to leave Isbire: he couldn’t play puppeteer and make her dance if she severed all her ties. The very thought made her angry beyond belief, but it was better to consider and prepare. Of course, the _absolute_ worst situation… 

Nacyri smiled at Gosun, who was mid-way through his recount of the most bewilderingly chaotic birthday party event she’d ever heard of. While the art-school aspirant chattered about how, upon learning about surrealism, his nine younger siblings had attempted to paint the scaled hides of their bone-crested dragon chickens, the psychologist fought to stay present. She had a duty of care to this teenage boy. To all of them. She was supposed to keep them safe. 

But Hisoka’s Hunter License meant she couldn’t rely on the police’s help and, though she’d submitted her assault complaint with the Association days ago, she didn’t trust the Hunters either. Should they hire bodyguards at the clinic? Would he see it as a challenge? Did they have the money to afford somebody good enough to keep everybody safe? Dr Fie wasn’t certain. Even with her limited experience, she could tell Hisoka was well-acquainted with violence and was insanely strong and fast for even a Nen-user, but that wasn’t an accurate enough measure of his capabilities. 

“...So, ‘Kesa looked at me, completely covered in chocolate cake and pink glitter, and-” Gosun checked the time and startled. “Oh, we’re overtime,” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “My bad. I got a bit carried away.” 

“Is it?” Nacyri glanced at the clock. 5:03PM glared back at her for letting her attention slip once more. Things were bad if her _clients_ had to point out the time. “Goodness, I was so entertained that I didn’t notice either. I’m glad that you had fun, since you were feeling nervous about it.” A lie. As entertaining as his story had been, she had been far too distracted by intrusive thoughts to pay serious attention. Thoughts of his siblings in the Isbirien funeral white, of her guilty tears as his perpetually conflictive parents united solely for the purpose of taking down the woman indirectly responsible for his murder. _No, I can’t be like this,_ she told herself. _It isn’t healthy._

Gosun sighed happily, almost hopping in place. His dark hair fell in his eyes and Nacyri wished she could brush the fringe back so he could actually see. He really needed a haircut. Or some bobby pins. “In summary, everything was a total mess but mum and dad didn’t argue and the step-witch didn’t pinch my cheeks even _once_.” 

The psychologist laughed, “Perhaps that was the best present of all.” It was a good sign: this was the first combined family event in years and it had gone relatively well, blue dragon chickens aside. 

“Ugh! You can’t even _imagine_ how annoying it is…” Ah, a typical display of teenage egocentrism. Nacyri did not miss those years of turbulent angst. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer,” he clambered off the couch with all the gracelessness of growing limbs. In a couple of months, Gosun would be as tall as she was - and she was fairly tall. 

“Thanks for coming today!” she called. “Good luck with your exams and remember your breathing exercises!” 

“Sure thing, Doc!” 

She bit her lip unconsciously at the nickname. _I’m late again,_ Nacyri thought, turning hurriedly to shut down her computer while packing everything into her bag. Today was, apparently, just that kind of day. 

The lock clicked on her way out, her boots just this side of fast to be considered truly unhurried. Would he care? Would it make him angry? She held her trench coat over her arm - the office was relatively cool, but she was so nervous that an extra layer would make her sweat. 

_Calm down. It’s been five minutes. He should be fine._

The lobby still had a few stragglers. Clients of other therapists, thank goodness. Gosun usually left quickly. Sari waved at her, looking far better than she had when Nacyri had arrived this morning. “I’m glad it worked out with the newest client,” her voice was cheery and veiled. “Take care, and make sure you get home safe.” Translation: _Are you going to be okay?_

“I will,” Nacyri returned. _Don’t worry, I’m okay._ “Goodnight and sleep well!” _You have nothing to be worried about._ Another lie. 

Since that shock of saturated red-pink failed to enliven the neutral colours of the lobby, he was probably outside. She stepped through the glass sliding doors, casting her glance about the yellow-illuminated city. No harlequins outside, either. 

Nacyri frowned. He’d been early to their first session, and he’d had to have arrived at the office at least before 6:30AM this morning. She hadn’t considered the fact that he might be late.

A part of her relaxed in his absence, the threads binding her lungs slackening enough for a breathing exercise. In and out, inhale and exhale, Nacyri ground herself in her surroundings. 

The breeze that meandered through the streets was cool and pleasant. It helped buffer the tingling warmth of the sun even as it hurtled towards the horizon, setting fire to the clouds and turning all the glass in Isbire molten. Citrus oranges and apocalyptic vermillion reds stained the west, so eye-catching that the dusky violets were forgotten and discarded at the opposite corners of the sky. Sunsets were easily her favourite. They were so very visceral and distinct, more so than sunrises (at least in her opinion). The chaos of rush hour added a strange spice to the dramatic scene, though she could have done without the exhaust fumes that contaminated the wind. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Nacyri didn’t turn. He’d probably appeared behind her intentionally to startle her, but these last small moments had done their job. She was calm again. Composed. “The sunset. What else could I be looking at?” 

His cold shadow swallowed her as he came by her left, blocking her view of the sky. “Hmmmm,” he mused. “Me?” The word was teasing but she did, indeed, look. 

Stunning was a good word for him: the implication of violence, the physical halt she came to whenever she saw him, it all fit. 

She’d never thought about what he might look like out of his intensely specific costume, so it was quite a shock. He wore a black sequined two-piece suit over a black shirt, unbuttoned to frame a pale, painstakingly carved out torso, and accented with a lilac choker necklace suspiciously similar to her dress. The aubergine heels had been switched out for chunky-soled black leather loafers with chain details across the front. Even the tear and star had changed to lavender and silver, complementing the diamond studs in his ears. It was unexpected, utterly ostentatious, and it suited him to the bone. She disliked that he somehow managed to look elegant and stylish in an outfit that would have taken inches of height off most men. 

Hisoka smirked, “I thought it would be better to blend in a little. I’m rather recognisable.” 

“Blend in?” Nacyri giggled before she could stop herself. “You’re wearing sequins...” 

He shrugged, as if it were only natural. “Traditional suits are awfully boring.” 

Well, she couldn’t disagree there, but… Nacyri glanced at her outfit, at the soft billowing sleeves of chiffon, the small ruffle at her neck. “These are two very different aesthetics,” she said dubiously. 

“Hmmm?” he sounded amused. 

“Well, mine’s metropolitan chic and yours is gay nightclub.” Even the common pops of lilac couldn’t make them reconcile. Her dress was fine, but the muted grey of her coat looked awkward against the stark black of his outfit. 

His laugh was loud and sudden. Hisoka shrugged off his jacket, “Wear this and it’ll even out.” 

It was an awfully fast solution. Nacyri wondered if he’d planned this from the beginning. The jacket was tailored for a small waist, so it would actually suit her feminine shape. She could wear it over her shoulders and they’d go from ill-met and grating to fashionably co-ordinated celebrity couple. 

Before she could decide, his jacket was placed over her shoulders and hers was snatched away. Hisoka held up her car keys, which somehow appeared in his hands. That thieving bastard… “Wait for me. I’ll put this in your car.” 

“Hisoka, you can’t just-” 

He tutted, “I’ll keep my hands to myself.” 

“When have you _ever_ kept your hands to yourself?” she grit. 

The shrug was nonchalant. “If it were up to me, we’d skip dinner and go straight to Heaven’s Arena.” 

“We’re not-” but he had vanished. 

And, just like that, Nacyri’s mood was thrown. She started to get angry, but reason pulled her back. _Don’t give him the satisfaction,_ she reminded herself. They were still right outside her clinic. The lives of all the people left inside were not worth her getting pissy because he violated her space. Again. 

Nacyri sighed. Handsome or not, Hisoka was a fucking handful. She needed to get rid of him as soon as possible. 

And she needed to keep a better eye on her valuables.

Hisoka reappeared within minutes, like one of the magic tricks he apparently performed. Facing this way, the sun paid special attention to the lines of his features. Some kind of alchemy transformed the metallic silver of the teardrop to gold, so it looked as though his liquified iris was running down his cheek. But those eyes: they were fool’s gold. And as the sunset marked day’s defeat before the unstoppable onslaught of night, so his eyes promised death for the unwary. 

“I like your car.” 

Her keys sailed through the air. Nacyri snatched them easily, slipping them inside the hidden pockets of her dress. She didn’t like that he now knew what her car looked like. Her pet indulgence had come back to sting her: as fond as she was of her mid-range, pearl-coloured convertible, it was a little too easy to track. “Speaking of cars,” Nacyri began, tucking away the disquiet with an errant strand of yellowed, sunlit hair, “How are we getting to… Where are we eating, again?” 

The man beside her stretched - she didn’t know why he’d bothered with the shirt, since she could see his toned stomach in unobstructed detail - smiling when her gaze returned to his. “What is it they say…?” he pretended to think, “Eyes up here?” A black nail gestured to his pretty face. 

Nacyri refused to be embarrassed, pulling his coat around her. “If you wanted my eyes up there, you would have worn the shirt properly. Well, congratulations on having muscles. I suspect you worked very hard to get them.” 

“I did,” he conceded, “and we’re walking.” 

“Walking?” She didn’t know why it felt so surprising to hear him say it. 

He sent a patient look her way. “Would you prefer that we drive?” 

Even though she knew she could handle him with Pacify, the thought of being trapped with Hisoka in such a tiny, confined space was… “Walking is fine.” 

“We could use my Nen,” he proposed, “But it might get a little… acrobatic… Well, I wouldn’t mind you holding on to me.” 

“Thank you,” Nacyri’s tone was polite, “We’ll walk.” 

He grinned, “Tandem bicycle?” 

“ _Walking,_ Hisoka. Where are we going?” 

He gestured vaguely in a north-easterly direction that looked suspiciously near Heaven’s Arena. 

“We’re not-” 

“-going to Heaven’s Arena?” he laughed. “Doc, it’s like you don’t trust me.” 

She didn’t even dignify that with a response. 

He gave her one last smile, just this side of odd as his gaze took her in, trapping her, capturing her image. Then it was gone before she could begin deciphering it, Hisoka turning to lead the way without so much as another word. 

The day continued to die with pointless honour and glory as they walked, bleeding red onto the cobblestones. The violet tones of the light spectrum were beginning to win out, and soon blue hour would bring indisputable victory to the evening. 

As they passed the emptying glass fronts of daytime stores, she caught their reflection. Nacyri couldn’t help but admit it: wearing his jacket, they _did_ make a rather attractive couple. If she saw them on the street somewhere, she would admire them, completely unaware of the bitter reality that had bound her to him. 

In this rare moment, free of harassment, the psychologist took the opportunity to observe him. Eyes straight ahead, comfortably silent, he walked unhurried and unfussed. At relatively frequent intervals, somebody in the busy crowd would gawk at them, first at him and then at her, but nobody had yet approached. Was it because of his admittedly noteworthy appearance, or because he was famous? 

In truth, she had avoided all things to do with the Arena, so she honestly had no idea. “So, uh, what floor of the Arena are you on?” She broke the silence first, since he seemed completely fine with it. Though the main goal was to never see him again after tonight, if she was going to be forced into playing ‘therapist’ then she needed to at least learn more about him. 

“The 200th floor,” Hisoka’s gaze slid to her, observing. 

“Oh, that's…” she tried to sound impressed, “rather high, is it not?”

“It is.” He seemed amused. “I never thought I'd find an Isbirien native who wasn't interested in the Arena.”

He was wrong. Nacyri hadn't been born in Isbire. Her home was actually a small, quaint town not that far from the Padokean border, but it would be unwise to correct him. She needed an escape route in case things went truly sour. "I have better things to do with my time," she said, "than watch people fight and hurt each other for fun."

"So do I," he replied, grinning at her openly sceptical reaction. "I much prefer the actual fighting."

Nacyri huffed out a laugh, "That was... almost a joke." How bizarre. She was joking with this man. But there was other information to latch onto. “So it’s the fight, then. Not the money? Glory?” 

Hisoka laughed, “I know a few people consumed by infamy. We all have our vices, but glory is not what moves me.” 

“Liar.” She’d shared his need to carve his name into the world. 

“Oh?” A slender eyebrow lifted. “What makes you so sure?” 

“I’ve felt your desires, remember?” That reminded her of something that had been bothering her this whole week. “You… Back then, you warned me. Pacify consumes darker emotions, but it can’t force a kindness. So... why? I would have thought you’d like nothing more than for me to lose control.” 

Hisoka shrugged. “I wanted to see you again. Take another look at that fascinating Hatsu ability. It’s harder to do that if you’re in jail, see.” 

A perfectly calculated answer, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. “You mentioned morality, though. That you’ve learned to control your desires over a lifetime.”

“Hmmm?” 

“Why do you think you need to control them?” It was a key question, deceptive in its apparent obviousness. Humans ran on assumptions to save time in communication, but psychology wasn’t about saving time or face. Assumptions let people drift on the surface of life without thinking about the currents that moved them. Sometimes, to dive deeper, you _had_ to ask obvious questions. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I didn’t?” 

“Whether you do or not isn’t really the point,” she asserted. “Do you think that what you want, and what you feel, is wrong?” 

“I suppose, to society…” 

No immediate, clear answer. _So it’s complicated, then…_ If she squinted really hard, Nacyri could almost imagine she saw hope in the distance. “To you. Is it wrong to you?” She needed to know what kind of moral code he had if they were going to make any progress. If he _had_ a moral code. A conscience. 

Hisoka shrugged. “Why, it’s almost like you’re trying to understand me, Doc.” 

Some patience slipped at the obvious dodge. “This is therapy. I’m a _therapist._ You walked into the clinic last week fully aware of it. You walked in today just as aware.” 

“Your point?” he wasn’t looking at her, eyes ahead. Always ahead. It afforded her a wonderful view of his architecturally astonishing hairstyle. _Avoidance._ _Refusing to connect._ Perhaps she was right. 

“I want to know why you came to the clinic.” 

“I told you, I was bored.” _Minimisation of a, quite frankly, bizarre decision…_

Nacyri ran her fingers along the textured outsides of his jacket, narrowly ducking a stranger’s flailing arms. She glared as he walked past her, obliviously glued to his phone. “There are a hundred thousand other things you could have done in a city like Isbire to cure your boredom. Things that don’t involve therapy.” 

“Ah, but who would have expected it?” he asked, full of humour. “Nobody. I won ten million jenny because Uvogin refused to believe me enough to bet on it. He’s honestly egregious at calling double bluffs.” 

“We just established that you’re not interested in money.” Kind of. Nacyri also wanted to ask who Uvogin was, but she refused to take the bait. She couldn’t get distracted. “I wonder,” she said quietly, “if you did it because a part of you wants help.” 

Hisoka blinked. Actually stopped in the middle of the cobblestones and the light crowd. “For what?” His thin eyebrows held tension between them for the first time. 

Nacyri’s smile was thin and tired. “What, indeed?” 

Silence reigned the rest of the way which, luckily, wasn’t all that far. Blues swept the streets clean of the sun’s bloody end, its testimony preserved by warm light of wrought iron street lamps. 

The place that Hisoka brought her to was both familiar and surprising, especially since it was one of the most famous restaurants in all of Isbire. 

“Hisoka,” Nacyri murmured, “You can’t get into the White Oleander without a dinner jacket, let alone virtually bare-chested.” 

“Oh?” Hisoka’s smile was indolent, lazy. “Wanna see a magic trick, Doc?” 

She blinked. “I guess? Wait, does it involve hurting people?” She felt like she needed to ask. 

He laughed, “For once, Doc, it doesn’t. It wouldn’t do for you to lose your appetite, no?” 

Hisoka sauntered up to the intricately paned glass double doors and they opened for him. 

A distinguished man with a truly impressive iron-coloured moustache, presumably the _maître d'hôtel_ , smiled at them. He didn’t even blink at her companion’s outfit. “Welcome, Mr Morow. We reserved your usual table.” 

Nacyri had to stop her jaw from dropping as Hisoka passed him with a casual wave of acknowledgement. “The usual brandy,” he said, continuing forward. “We’ll order in five minutes.” 

The _maître d'hôtel_ smiled and gestured for Nacyri, who was still a little dazed, to follow Hisoka’s lead. She had to hurry to catch up. “You’re right,” she muttered, “That _was_ magic. Nen?” 

Gold eyes slid towards her, accompanied by an amused expression, “Money.” There was a spiral staircase in the middle of the restaurant with grape vines wrapped around wrought iron railings. Nacyri had seen it before, but never gone up. Tables on the second and third floor were more expensive, but she came here for the food, not the view, and had thus never climbed it. He splayed his fingers, wiggling them at her. “It’s useful sometimes, no?” 

Then began his ascent. 

Nacyri felt slightly off-balance as she followed, gripping the railing with her left hand. The lush green leaves of the vine lovingly brushed against her skin. It wasn’t as though she was poor - she made almost eight million jenny each year. She’d even eaten at the Oleander with Mitsuki on a few occasions, reserved _months in advance._ But there was no way that Hisoka could have planned this whole thing months ago. Which meant that the earliest notice he could have possibly given was the day they met, a week ago. And even that was… She licked her lips with a frown as she made some conservative estimates at the kind of money that could coax the White Oleander into politely ignoring their dress code, waiting list, and exclusivity policies. “How lucrative is Heaven’s Arena, exactly?” 

Hisoka turned to watch her while they climbed, apparently enjoying watching her silently reason her way to this most alarming conclusion. His choker necklace accentuated the line of his pale neck beautifully, though the lilac made her feel strange. His intentions were clear when he’d matched with her. Like everything he’d done so far, he was burrowing closer, attaching threads with which to bind her at every turn, like some kind of spider. When she was helpless and immobile, she could only assume that he would devour her whole. “Lucrative,” his smile was telling. “Fights on the 1st floor compensate you with a drink from the vending machines. The prize for a victory on the 100th floor is one million jenny. By the 150th floor, it’s increased to ten million.” They reached the second floor of the Oleander. Kept climbing. 

It was an almost disgusting amount of money. There were probably thousands of fighters in the Arena. If those funds were redistributed from the entertainment industry into the public sector… They never would be. For a city so ready to get on its knees at the mafia's behest, it was progressive when it came to things like mental health access, but that was deliberate: the authorities kept things good enough so the working classes would overlook the virulent greed and corruption that truly ruled Isbire. “You said you’re on the 200th floor? How much do you make per win?” 

“Nothing,” Hisoka replied. “Beyond the 200th floor, we fight for glory.” The way he said it sounded odd. _We._

“You said glory doesn’t move you.” Honestly, she was relieved that they’d got onto the topic of Heaven’s Arena. It seemed to be one of the few things that Hisoka was content to talk about. 

“And you said it does,” he shot back. 

“Doesn’t it?” 

“Glory is the maraschino cherry on top of the proverbial cake.” he teased. This dancing around the answer - she hated it and he knew it. “Want to know?” 

“Want to know what?” she asked, keeping her voice bland as possible. 

“Hmmm… My favourite flavour of cake. It’ll cost you, though.” 

“It’s one that presumably works well with maraschino cherries,” Nacyri deadpanned, using his own metaphor. “I’ll figure it out on my own eventually.” Because if it wasn’t money, and only partially glory… 

Eyes glittered, but not at her. At something in the distance she couldn’t touch. “What I’m truly hungry for,” he said as they finally reached the top floor, “is to watch the expressions of the extraordinary crumble, as they realise I own them in their final moments and that I am not a benevolent master. I kill for that moment.” He paused for a heartbeat. “I’ll probably die for that moment.” 

She stopped. _Domination. Submission. Sadism. Masochism._ The stairs had not winded her, but Nacyri was breathless. She’d wondered if the reason Hisoka spoke so freely about fighting and the Arena was because it held no true importance to him, but she’d been wrong. A single sentence, delivered with perfect nonchalance, gave her a more complete glimpse into his soul than her Nen-ability had. Like she’d been trying to put together a thousand-piece puzzle and he’d shown her the reference image, all these things she had felt and seen suddenly made perfect, coherent sense. This was it. This is what he wanted. The fight - no, the _victory_ _._ Hard won and indisputable. He didn’t want to carve his name into the world, he wanted to carve his name into the flesh of powerful opponents, right before he took everything from them in the most complete domination known to man: murder. Because that’s what he’d admitted to: not simply violence but actual _murder._ It also explained his sexual aggression: for what else was rape but domination and desecration? 

She should run. “You don’t have any intention of leaving me alone, do you?” Nacyri asked. She already knew the answer.

He hummed, “Not in the slightest.” Again, it should have made her turn and walk back down those stairs but, instead, Nacyri was suddenly calm. Because knowledge was power, and power meant control. There was no point in fleeing from a man who went to such extremes to satiate his desires. If he desired her, nothing would stop him. There was really only one option available...

A childhood spent as a powerless victim. Physical and possibly sexual abuse. Abused kids often developed over-compensatory mechanisms to deal with their trauma. If he was adamant in his refusal to let her go, she needed to get to the root of the problem to have any kind of hope at progress. 

“What are you thinking about, Doc?” Nacyri blinked and realised his face was inches from hers. His gaze confined hers, and the bars of her prison were distinctively golden. 

If she lied, he’d notice. “That I would run very, very far away, if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it,” she answered honestly. 

His expression lit up with delight. “Oh _Doc_ ,” Hisoka’s fingers snaked around to trap her wrist, too, “you already know me so well.” 

The third floor was beautiful, spacious and resplendent with creams and accents of gold. She expected they would sit inside but, instead, black nails threatened to pierce her skin as he tugged her outside. And… Nacyri was taken aback. She’d never imagined that the White Oleander boasted a secret balcony. 

Greenery crowded about them, lit tastefully with little tea candles, many plants sagging under the fat weight of fruit and vegetables in various stages of ripening. The scent of orange blossom and fresh herbs filled the air with pleasant, clean scents. If not for the view that opened up before them, one of indigo sky scattered with the warm glow of street lamps, Nacyri could almost believe she tasted the fragrant air of her hometown. Heaven’s Arena towered over their left, like a sentinel ever-watchful of the bright pleasure district on their right. They were close enough that the cobblestone streets were filled with couples enjoying their precious hours of free time at restaurants and art galleries, but far enough that the drunks and the drug addicts did not spill through the alleyways. The atmosphere would have been romantic if anybody else - Mistuki, for example - were with her. 

“Sit.” At some point he’d let go of her hand to pull out a chair for her. 

She grimaced at him, and promptly went to sit in the opposite one. 

Hisoka laughed. “You’re so very fun,” he said, falling languidly into the chair he’d offered her. Graceful as a cat, he took the leather-bound menu and flipped it open. 

Nacyri made a dismissive noise. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered. 

“On the contrary, Doc. I tend to kill boring people faster.” 

“Really?” she tried to keep her tone even. The interest out of her voice. 

“Mmmm, there’s nothing I dislike more than wasting time and energy on somebody who is useless. Are you not going to look at the menu?” 

“I already know what I want,” Nacyri replied. 

“Already?” She’d piqued his interest. 

The psychologist nodded, “I get it whenever I come here.” A dish from her hometown which centred around the sweet-spiced meat of a haza rabbit native to the border region. 

“It must be delicious indeed,” Hisoka cocked his head. The candlelight emphasised the delicate planes of his face. “What is it?” 

“Gekyume,” Nacyri replied. “The Oleander is the only restaurant I’ve found that makes it right.” 

The menu shut with an elegant snap. “I’ll try it.” 

“I…” Nacyri hesitated. “It’s an acquired taste.” 

Hisoka smiled, “So am I.” 

The _maître d'hôtel_ came with a prompt efficiency that told Nacyri it had been exactly five minutes since they’d arrived. _How,_ exactly, Hisoka managed to stretch such short periods into eternity mystified her. Perhaps because he lived in the moment - she still couldn’t be sure. Two tulip cognac glasses were placed on the table, alongside a matching crystal decanter filled with amber liquor. “What will you be having tonight?” the man asked smoothly, pouring the brandy into Hisoka’s glass and moving to hers. 

She held up her hand. “None for me, thank you. We’ll both have gekyume.” 

“Would you also like the traditional entrées?” 

“Of course,” she replied. The stretchy, mildly chewy flatbread was essential and the refreshing, citrus-heavy salad was divine. 

For dessert, Hisoka stepped in to order a sweet rice porridge dish that originated in NGL, while Nacyri chose a panna cotta, with house-made icecream and berries, served in a spun sugar cage. The refined older waiter bowed and left with their orders. 

She stared across the table, contemplating him. The things he’d said. What they potentially meant for her. She hadn’t nearly finished the puzzle piece, but she wondered if it was enough. 

“You’re thinking again,” Hisoka leaned forward. She blinked, startling. He sounded a little disappointed. “It’s obvious you’re not a fighter, because you stop focusing on your surroundings. It leaves you terribly open.” He snapped his fingers and that fan of cards appeared, alongside a scary, fierce obsession in his voice. “You’re like him in that regard, except _he’s…_ mmm… just...” 

“Who?” Nacyri asked. “Uvogin?” 

“You’d probably be better off forgetting that name,” Hisoka looked amused. “I was talking about Gon.” 

“And Gon is…?” she trailed off, hoping that he might finish his sentence. 

A dreamy expression took hold. “Going to be delicious beyond comparison,” Hisoka replied. A longing sigh. “Give or take about 7 years. But I’m really not certain I can wait that long. Not when he asks me to fight with eyes like _that_.” 

She wasn’t sure if he noticed, but his hands were trembling slightly. “So you can wait for what you want.” 

“Only for the best, Doc.” Hands curled into fists that forced stillness. So he had noticed. “I don’t have time for anything but the best.”

“I see.” And she did. Excitement was budding in her chest. Like going through a ring of keys before finally finding the one that turns the lock.

“Now there’s an interesting tone. What are you thinking about this time?” 

Nacyri licked her lips, gazing up at the sky. At the stars beginning to peek through the atmosphere. She’d been vacillating all evening. It was time to make a move. “I’m trying to figure out where exactly I fit in all of…” she gestured at him, at the hair, the makeup, the clothes, the everything, “...this. I don’t fit into the construct you’ve built for how to deal with the world. You want to fight strong people. You savour the struggle, the ultimate victory. I can beat you with my Nen-ability, which technically classifies me as a powerful person. But I’m not a fighter. You can’t savour a battle with me, because I can absorb your bloodlust with a thought. There’s no pleasure in simply killing me. I...” She broke off at the intense expression on his face, at the tension between his shaped eyebrows. It made her almost giddy, smile creeping across her face. _I’m right_ , she thought. “You don’t know what to do with me. Am I wrong?” 

The subtle frown slid off his face like syrup. “You are,” he said breezily. 

“I doubt it,” she responded, with just as much ease. “I’m right, and you don’t like it.” 

“You’ve caught me, Doc. Since you’re already starting to figure me out, why don’t you be my therapist?” Hisoka asked, the words dusted with powdered sugar. 

It immediately shot down her high, sent her hurtling back down to earth. Made her second-guess herself. “I…” 

“You’re surprisingly reluctant. I thought this was what you wanted.” He pressed, looking a little too pleased for comfort. Maybe she _had_ been wrong. Or was it a double bluff, like the one he’d mentioned earlier?

“I get the feeling that you only keep your word when it benefits you somehow. And if this benefits you, I can only naturally assume it’ll end badly for me.” 

“But I ‘don’t know what to do with you’,” he quoted her. 

It made her shrink a little. Damn it, she needed to choose. And she should choose the smart option. “I’d rather be cautious and assume you have unsavoury plans.” But if Nacyri _was_ right, she was one of the few things he couldn’t shove into a neat little box. She was a moment of instability, and instability was the perfect breeding for change. Maybe it was greedy and arrogant, but the _aloneness_ in the hidden centre of his being called to her. It wasn’t a safe decision, but she wanted to try and help him, if he was willing to put in the work. 

He hummed, the sound dripping with sensuality. “Good girl.” 

“But if I said yes,” she ventured, “We need to lay some ground rules.” 

Hisoka snorted, “The rules are simple, Doc. You do what I want, or I kill the people you care for. All those deaths on your head... I wonder if you'll be able to cope.”

“You're wrong.” He raised an eyebrow at her force. “In this situation, I have almost no control over what happens to my patients and colleagues. I can do everything you want, no matter how disgusting or degrading, and you could still choose to kill them. The choices you make are yours. So is the guilt. I will not have any part of it.”

“Cold words, Doc. I thought you were supposed to help people.”

She was, but… “The primary concern in any medical emergency is taking responsibility for your own safety. You can threaten those around me, even kill them, but I won't let you convince me that all of this is somehow my fault. And…” Nacyri’s expression turned frigid. “I dislike violence, but I swear this to you. If you touch even one of them, I will use my Nen to ensure you die in the most unsatisfying way possible.” 

She’d expected him to look angry, or maybe pleased, but Hisoka was neither of those things. He straightened in his chair, the fan of cards disappearing with a flick. Looked at her seriously as if, for the first time, he actually considered her somewhat of an equal opponent. 

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

“So,” Nacyri continued, “I want to propose a truce.” 

He stared passed the balcony railing to the vibrant city beneath as he thought. “A truce, huh?” he murmured to himself.

The psychologist waited. 

After several moments of watching his profile, Hisoka relaxed back into his seat, smile returning to his face as if it’d never left. “I’ll decide after you answer one question, Doc. There’s something I’ve been dying to know.” 

Nacyri frowned. “What?” 

His gaze caressed her thighs. “Did you feel all of it?” 

Her heartbeat quickened. Out of all the questions… “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nacyri knew exactly what he was talking about. Shame burned inside her. She recalled moments where, desperate for friction, she’d… And because she was used to stripping down during processing periods, she hadn't thought about how it might look... Heat flooded her face in a blush she could only hope the night disguised. She'd long been comfortable with her sexuality - she just wasn't comfortable with _his._

He tilted his head, “Now I _really_ want to see that video.” It hadn’t. How unlucky.

“You won’t,” she replied instantly. The oddly rapturous expression when he’d seen her bruises was the final nail in the coffin of that idea. She ought to snap the disk when she returned home. 

His face lit up in interest, “Oh? So there _is_ a video? Doc, you surprise me.” 

_Damn it…_ she wanted to smack him and then herself. She was really off her game, today. But then every conversation with Hisoka was like that. One minute, she thought she had it under control and then, the next, he shoved her back off-balance. Nacyri let out a trembling breath, “If I show it to you, will you come to sessions and actually co-operate?” 

“Sure,” his tone was bored. Gratuitous. 

“I won’t give it to you until _after_ we’ve done some work.” 

“Are you trying to bargain with me? How delightful.” 

She shook her head, pushing off the chair. She’d tried. “Then, I hope you enjoyed your precious fifty minutes. I trust you’ll cover the cheque.” 

“Sit down Doc,” Hisoka drawled. “You have yourself a deal. I don’t kill your friends and play nice when we hang out. You give me the video and let me enjoy your lovely company. Have I missed anything?” 

Nacyri sat back down. “I need to make it clear that this is not an invitation to a sexual relationship,” she warned. “This will stay professional.” 

“ _Ugh,_ whatever...” his nose scrunched in displeasure. It was an unexpected expression, almost cute. “You’re so dull, sometimes.” 

The _maître d'hôtel_ interrupted her sharp retort with his reappearance. In that brief moment, a tattoo peeked from the jacket sleeve at his wrist. It struck her as a little odd, since he didn't seem like the type, but... if there was anything Nacyri had learned from her profession, it was that there was no such thing as a 'type'. A small tattoo was far less weird than a man who wore heavily-themed costumes and face paint and found his thrills in murdering people. 

Two steaming plates of her favourite comfort dish were set down without so much as a wobble, along with a large platter of flatbread served aside little dishes of olive oil, pine nuts, and sundried tomatoes. A huge bowl of fresh, crisp green salad completed the set. Her mouth watered at the familiar scents. 

Nacyri thanked the man quietly as Hisoka held up his glass. “To us,” he said cheerfully, sounding almost affectionate as the waiter bowed to them. “Honestly, I’m so glad I met you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Somanoko! Gah, they're so ridiculously cool. I had to resize them a bit, but if you want to take a closer look then I'll drop the link at the bottom. 
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)
> 
> Like, look at these! The details? Incredible. And seeing Hisoka's expressions on her face gives me absolute life. Basically, they inspired me to do something I never do, and draw my own characters. 
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)
> 
> The quality is less awesome, because I simply Cannot Digital Art, but yes. And finally, since I'm in the mood for visuals, this is the outfit I imagined Hisoka wearing (minus the purple choker).  
> https://www.asos.com/au/asos-design/asos-design-skinny-suit-jacket-in-black-velvet-and-sequins/prd/14381854?channelref=product+search&affid=24794&mk=abc&ppcadref=9995283264%7C99537716623%7Cpla-331358699218&gclid=CjwKCAjw8MD7BRArEiwAGZsrBcWImi-ybgEfTjP0rQuqeKkxkVcsltmTErAQGshvq86WBLml8bclIhoCke0QAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> With that, I leave you to go pass tf out. Peace :)
> 
> Somanoko links:  
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de5wt8n-47b15de6-0fc9-49bc-a337-0961a36d8ff7.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTV3dDhuLTQ3YjE1ZGU2LTBmYzktNDliYy1hMzM3LTA5NjFhMzZkOGZmNy5qcGcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.C5Uz08mEPzO0QP52ak3xVY8IwGGiUXLoqTQwJtBFJ7E
> 
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de5yri5-5c32f4f0-9856-46fd-80e6-9adde19d8125.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTV5cmk1LTVjMzJmNGYwLTk4NTYtNDZmZC04MGU2LTlhZGRlMTlkODEyNS5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.Dz8TbCCSVZYuqsgzQv0umfQxL0QUJvjv_8DH_jGnQIA


	4. Sugar-Coated Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **You can see me drinking Cherry Cola,  
>  Sweet serial killer,  
> I left a love note  
> Said, "You know I love the thrill of the rush"  
> You know I love the thrill of the rush...  
>  _\- Serial Killer, Lana Del Rey_  
> **   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiyaaaa, sorry the update is a little later than usual. I had my birthday. Now I have exams. I'm not gonna be a functional human for the next week, lmao. I actually did have to split the chapter, this time. I'll hopefully have it up within the next two weeks. Promise. Also, Somanoko came through with more beautiful art! I'll drop it below.

“Mitsi…” Nacyri sighed into her can of cider. Apple sweetened her tongue. “I’m just… ugh, let me borrow your lap for a bit.” 

Dr Mitsuki snorted, shuffling around on their white leather couch. “Sure.” 

Nacyri pressed her cheek against the lean muscle of her friend’s thigh, shivering when fingers automatically began combing through the colourless strands of her hair. She blinked slowly. Her eyelids had been getting steadily heavier over the last hour. 

“Do you want to actually talk about it, now?” Mitsuki asked. 

The prostrate psychologist made a noise, staring at the blank darkness of the television. “No. Nope. I’m nowhere near drunk.” 

“It’s your fault for drinking cider. You’d need a whole bottle of spirits-level liquor to get buzzing.” 

“Fucking Nen,” Nacyri muttered, taking another sip. She enjoyed the sweet, crisp flavour, how it complemented the flat undertones of yeast. “Alcohol is already expensive… and I _like_ cider. I just wish it wouldn’t take several dozen to make me fall flat on my face. I'm getting old. My body can’t handle that much sugar.”

"Thirty-three isn't old," Mitsuki soothed. "Anyway, you haven't changed since university."

"Fucking Nen," Nacyri toasted, this time appreciatively, and finished her can. She didn't reach for another. 

Her friend brushed the stray hairs from her face. “Maybe rethink your method of escapism for the evening?” 

Nacyri shifted onto her back to gaze up at her friend. “What do you suggest?” 

“A drive?” 

Hmm… Actual, physical escape. That did sound good. A few hours out, a few hours back, nothing but her, Mitsuki, and the stars for company. They could put on some jazz, fold down the top so that the music was almost stolen by the breath of the wind and the purr of her engine... “No.” If she could have sagged, she would have, but she was already horizontal. “If he watched me come into your apartment building and then saw us leave together, he might target you too. And I...” The words choked off. 

Dinner had been predictably delicious and Hisoka had been on his relatively best behaviour. They’d even talked about things outside of killing, blackmail, and sex - which seemed to be his favourite subjects, so she appreciated the effort. Things like travel and the destinations they both had in common and didn’t. He’d seemed surprised when she said she’d never been to Padokea. Nacyri had just shrugged. She intended on visiting _eventually,_ but the trip across the border was easy so she’d always put it off. 

Hisoka had come back from the Kingdom of Kukan’yu only recently - to take the Hunter Exam, actually. Nacyri had spent a year-long student exchange in Zaban City, following a three month sojourn in Jappon, so it was a little odd to hear that the Hunters had commandeered it. In fact, she could have sworn she’d walked past the restaurant he mentioned, maybe even eaten there.

He'd found her resulting astonishment at this minor collision of their worlds amusing. It wasn't as if Nacyri was unaware that there were layers in the world - she’d experienced the drug dens and whore houses and the penthouses full of models with powdered noses (yes, she meant _that_ powder), if only through the stories of her patients. There were always going to be people who didn’t fit in, who slipped through the cracks in society or shunned it completely. Some of them became Hunters and chased things the world over. Others found themselves in shady basements, where the bloated criminal underworld gorged itself on all human refuse unlucky enough to collect there. Sure, sometimes these places intersected with normalcy. Sometimes the underground was actually aboveground, in the penthouses of Isbirien skyscrapers. But, to think that they shared in common a restaurant a whole continent over was... bizarre. 

Nacyri had listened with initial interest for details, but his re-telling was rather lackluster. It was almost as though he hadn’t actually taken part, so focused was he on the other participants. Gon, Killua, Leorio, Kurapika, a Gittarackur that was also somehow Illumi - all topics she made a mental note to revisit. Years ago, she’d briefly considered becoming a Hunter, simply for the fact that it’d make her journey through medical school easier, but when he casually mentioned the First Phase was an 80km marathon _before_ they started on the stairs, she was glad she’d decided against it. She could do it theoretically - the ability to use aura did medically astonishing things to the human body - but just the thought made her tired. And her reluctance towards violence would shackle her severely in the later Phases. 

By the time dinner had ended, Nacyri was struck by the fact that this man could be rather charming when he chose. The operative word, of course, was _when._ But he’d gotten what he came for - her complicity in this farce dressed as therapy - and thus had not seen fit to bother her aside from the occasional, teasing remark. She’d fully intended on arguing with him if he’d offered to walk back to her car, utterly convinced that out of all the threats in the city, he was the absolute worst. But instead Hisoka had paid, bowed to her, then told her to keep his coat until he had an opportunity to collect it. And he'd left her amongst the cobblestones, unsure whether she should take that as a promise or a threat...

Enough. She’d come here to escape Hisoka in every way - including the thoughts he seemed so happy to intrude on. “There’s enough residents that there’s no reason for him to single you out, and he was in Heaven’s Arena when I processed my Nen at the hospital, so you should be safe.” And yet… “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey,” Mitsuki put a finger between Nacyri’s eyebrows to dispel some of the tension, “I’m the one who said you could come over, remember? That was my decision.” 

Nacyri hummed, “Words of consent, boundaries, and reason… Keep talking to me. I need to hear more mature adult speak to balance out the crazy.” 

She could feel Mitsuki’s laughter through their legs. Fingers tapped her cheek, “That’s something I can do, but… as comfortable as you look, I’m going to need you to shift. I need nicotine, first.” 

The psychologist pouted, but lifted her head obediently. Mitsi’s smoking habit was the only thing they’d ever argued about. It was only once, but it had felt so awful that they’d immediately apologised and declared a stalemate. That day, she'd learned a valuable lesson: it's important to pick your battles and let certain things go for the sake of your relationships. 

“Relax, Nas.” Clothes rustled as Mitsuki made their way to the balcony. “Give me five minutes and I’ll talk ‘mature adult speak’ at you for the rest of the night, if you like.” 

Nacyri yawned. “You’re the one who promised, so don’t back out later.” Gosh, when had she got so tired? “But hurry… I’m getting sleepy.” 

Mitsi hummed in reply. 

Truly, today had been taxing. Her clients were tiring, but that was usual. She was accustomed to the emotional toll her work took and had developed healthy ways of coping with them. Hisoka was the problem. As... interesting... as he was, he forced her into a constant alertness that she wasn’t used to. Nacyri actually _liked_ playing word games with clever people, just not when, depending on their rather fickle whimsy, every word might endanger somebody she knew with bodily harm. 

She thought of what Hisoka had said, about how she lost herself in thought, and wondered if Hisoka felt like this all the time, constantly surveilling the world for threats. Did he ever let himself truly relax? Didn’t he get exhausted? 

_Well, even if he does, he probably wouldn’t tell me…_ Nacyri closed her weary eyes and sighed, hand fumbling at the band that had kept her bundle of waves trapped the entire day. Her white hair stretched out behind her, finally free of its bonds. 

Five minutes. She could rest for five minutes before Mitsuki came back, and then she would revive herself. 

Except the darkness at the back of her eyelids sucked her mind into it, swallowing her hazy plans. 

And, by the time Mitsuki had returned, Dr Nacyri Fie was fast asleep on the couch, locks blending into the leather. 

Morning found her again in the obnoxious sound of her alarm. The woman jolted in the empty bed, sheets bunching at her waist, as she tried to ascertain where she was. 

When the gentle wooden shapes of Mitsuki’s ceiling fan coalesced in her vision, Nacyri relaxed. It was fine. She was safe. Not in the comfort of her own home, but she was safe. Unless he was hiding in the closet, of course. She wouldn't put it past him.

Nacyri blinked and rubbed at her eyes, sliding out of the bed. She still wore the dress from yesterday. By this point, Mitsuki could have undressed her and put her in something more comfortable and Nacyri wouldn’t have cared, but her friend was far too polite to do it. They’d always been like that. Considerate. Respectful. Even when, over a decade ago, she'd drunkenly crawl into their bed and beg for them to help her forget her latest disappointing relationship. 

The apartment was silent as Nacyri pad, barefoot, to the huge ass minimalist bathroom. She opened the white cupboards and pulled out several little bottles before undressing. She slept over with enough regularity that Mitsuki had taken to keeping spares of her favourite products. Nacyri stepped into the shower, massaging squalane into her face. The water fell on her like warm, tropical rain as her fingers worked, a full minute passing before she reached for her cleanser. Since she’d missed out on her night routine, she wanted to double cleanse the stress and pollution from her pores. Cleanse, vitamin serums, moisturiser - simple, but effective for a morning routine. She’d break out the BHAs when she got home. 

Mitsuki and her had roughly similar size and taste in clothing, so Nacyri had no trouble pulling an outfit from their closet. She dressed in a tight long-sleeved shirt, a pretty turquoise colour that was a few shades lighter than her Nen. High-waisted teal pants cinched her waist, flaring out at the bottoms. They weren’t the same shoe size - Mitsi’s feet were two sizes too big for that - but Nacyri didn’t mind. Her boots from yesterday would look fine.

From the bedroom, she followed the tantalising scent of coffee to the kitchen, where a note and a fat, fluffy omelette sat waiting for her. Nacyri picked up the white card with a soft expression. _“I made breakfast so you won’t be late two days in a row.”_

“Rude,” Nacyri muttered, poking out her tongue. She carried the plate to the microwave and set it, before unwrapping the cloth from the loaf of fresh bread on the counter. As she sliced the bread, the psychologist hummed softly to herself, plopping the neat slices into the toaster. Now. Coffee. Mitsuki knew her well, had left the glass jar of freshly ground coffee beans out for her, alongside the moka pot. Nacyri filled the lower compartment with water, heaping a generous mound of the fragrant grinds inside before screwing the top tight. The microwave _pinged,_ the toaster releasing with a _pop._ Nacyri let the stove do its magic work while she buttered her toast. 

Slowly, the aroma of coffee thickened and Nacyri felt her whole body ease. It was one of her favourite scents, steeped with pleasant memories of weekends in a brightly lit, open kitchen, her mother humming as she made breakfast, of late nights sneaking glances at the glittering sky before returning to the cramped pages of her textbooks, of warm conversations and brunch dates with Mitsuki. 

Steam spewed from the moka pot and Nacyri poured it into a waiting mug, stirring honey through the warm brown liquid. The first sip was absolute bliss, all dark and acrid and sweet. She sighed in contentment, sipping her espresso between bites of breakfast. The omelette was textured with mushrooms, capsicum, and tomatoes, lightly dusted with the perfect amount of pepper and salt. There was literally nothing that could spoil her mood. 

Her phone shattered the serene silence. Nacyri frowned and set down the toast in her hand. Who would call at this hour? She hurried to the bedroom, snatching her phone from the walnut wood of the bedside table. An unfamiliar number blazed across the screen. Nacyri hesitantly accepted the call and pressed it to her ear. “Yes?” she asked. She didn’t give out her name to unknown callers as a general rule. 

“Doc.” 

Never mind. There was one thing that could spoil her mood. 

Nacyri’s teeth found the ragged edges of her healing bottom lip. “How did you get this number?” 

“Your receptionist,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Took a little convincing, but she gave it in the end.” 

“Hisoka, did you threa-”

“Only the one time, I promise,” he cut her off. 

She sighed. “What do you want at…” She checked her watch. “5:30 in the morning?” 

“Do you have plans tonight?” 

Nacyri crossed her arms. “It depends…” 

Hisoka laughed. “Your caution wounds me, Doc. There’s a travelling circus in town. I would like you to come along.” 

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Nacyri peered blankly at the polar white of the bedroom wall. Because he dressed like a clown-esque magician? 

There was a hum that felt a little obscene so close to her ear. It rubbed over her skin. “Hmmm… No.” 

“Why?” she asked. 

She could almost feel the lazy shrug through the phone. “Why not?” 

“There are so many reasons,” Nacyri said. “Should I list them?” 

“Come now, Doc. I’ll be a good boy. You’re the one who wanted to see me outside of your little clinic.” 

_Yeah, because you threatened to massacre my colleagues..._ She licked her lips and thought. Even though he’d partly suggested it, she hadn’t expected him to organise something so soon. But then, he was rather persistent when he wanted to be. Would it be better to see him more often, to accustom him to her? He didn’t seem quick to trust people, so it surely wouldn’t hurt. “Okay…?” She just had to make sure he didn’t take over her life. 

“Wonderful,” Hisoka replied. “It’s a little far to walk, but we could make it if we run there...” 

Nacyri thought of running in her heeled boots and wrinkled her nose. How he managed to fight in pumps, she didn’t know. She sighed resignedly. “We can drive.” 

“I’ll meet you at the clinic after you finish work, then. Bye bye...” With that, the line went dead. 

And Nacyri returned to finish her cooling breakfast. 

Work was, well, work. One of her patients cried on her couch so long and hard it took an hour for the armrest to dry. Nacyri wanted to be sympathetic - Jake had failed his drug test and, thus, had not been able to get the job he’d really wanted - but she couldn’t. Nobody had forced him to take the D². And while she pitied him, saddened by the situation he found himself in, that didn’t change the fact that it was his decision. It was important to provide calm, safe spaces, but telling Jake that it wasn’t his fault when, in fact, it _was_ would only reinforce his behaviour. Coaching him through his tears had used up most of her patience. 

To say the least, Nacyri was glad to lock the day away in her office, slipping the keys into her pocket as she made her way outside. She bid Sari good evening, trying to massage away her forming headache as she navigated the lobby. 

The sunset was calmer today. Instead of the reds and oranges of fire and blood, the atmosphere was a pastel ombre of baby pink and periwinkle, the sun lining the cotton candy clouds with gold. Hisoka peeled away from a nearby pillar. He was back in his black and pink costume, as if the suit of yesterday had been nothing more than a mirage. 

He examined the fingers at her temples with a thin, raised brow. “Rough day?” 

Nacyri let her hands drop. “No, not really. Any day I don’t have to use my Nen is a good one.” 

“You use it often?” 

She shook her head. “No, thank goodness.” 

“It is a disgustingly self-sacrificing ability,” Hisoka commented. There was an interesting expression on his face she couldn’t quite place. Just a little off neutral. “Do you regret setting such harsh conditions?” 

She frowned at him. “No,” Nacyri replied immediately. No doubt in her mind. “The conditions are what makes it so strong. I knew what I was doing.” 

He tilted his head, bright hair bobbing behind him. His eyes glittered, like cursed treasure sparkling in torchlight. “I’ve been thinking about it, actually. How you might weaponise your Nen. You could create a new ability, you know. One that lets you choose who suffers the emotions you steal. An enemy, perhaps. You could take away somebody’s ability to fight back, give their bloodlust to a lover or somebody equally precious, and watch the drama unfold.” 

Nacyri recoiled, repugnance flooding through her body. “That’s…” she couldn’t finish the sentence, emotion choking the words. His little suggestion could take Pacify, which she’d only ever intended for healing, and turn it into something absolutely nightmarish. The fact he'd been thinking of ways to corrupt her ability... “That’s _awful…_ ” 

Hisoka smiled winningly, “You should consider it.”

“I will not. The burden is mine to bear.” At least, that’s what she _wanted_ to say. But they’d only just established their little truce, and Nacyri was standing on rather thin ice. The second he thought that she would play martyr despite knowing better, he would immediately return to threatening the people around her. It was easier for him than honouring their agreement. Less emotionally threatening. 

And then there was the other thing. The thing she’d been avoiding thinking about since last night. Truly, Nacyri did not like violence. She’d become a healer instead of a Hunter for that very reason. But last night… When she had told Hisoka that, if he harmed anybody because of her, she would kill him, she’d been unexpectedly serious. Deadly so. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t recognise the havoc revenge could wreak upon a person, because she did: revenge could poison even the best of people, until they were willing to do terrible things for the sake of their purpose. It was just that she was so determined to protect others, that she was willing to accept the stain of murder on her soul. And a sentence, said in the heat of the moment, had revealed to Nacyri a truth about herself that she’d never before had to confront. _I could kill somebody._ It would be awful, might damage her irrecoverably, but she could do it. “I’ll… consider it,” she said. It wasn’t a lie - she _had_ considered it and decided against it. 

He shrugged, “Just a thought, Doc. It’s better to have more cards in your hand, even if you never play them.”

“Perhaps, but temptation is more difficult to resist when all that stands in the way is willpower.” 

Hisoka stepped closer to her. Rough, clawed fingers grabbed at her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “Then, don’t resist.” In contrast to his touch, his voice was terribly soft. 

Nacyri snatched her arm from his grip, but the damage was done. The imprint of his lips tingled on her skin. “ _Behave,_ Hisoka.” 

“Hmmm, say it again.” Aureate eyes sparkled at her threatening tone. _Damn it._ She needed to stop reacting whenever he prodded at her. 

She swallowed the emotion in her voice. “Behave,” she repeated blandly, brushing past him on the way to her car. 

He followed her in pretend obedience to the small carpark bordering the clinic, where her white convertible lay waiting in silence. Funny how things changed so quickly. Just twenty four hours ago, Nacyri had felt extremely uncomfortable at the thought of driving with him beside her. She hadn’t understood his motives or desires, which had made it incredibly difficult to predict how he’d react. It was obviously foolish to assume she now knew everything about him but, since her revelation, she felt marginally more comfortable. If he didn’t decide to kill her randomly, and he liked to savour his victories, then he probably wouldn’t be more than a petty annoyance on the drive over. Probably. 

_That’s the most aggravating thing about Hisoka…_ Nacyri thought. _There’s always a ‘probably’._

The car beeped and she slid into the driver’s seat, buckling up. She realised belatedly that the last person who had driven with her had been Mitsuki. Watching the tall man have to fold himself into the passenger’s side was admittedly amusing. That he managed to do it with any amount of grace, his face calm as he adjusted the seat for his ridiculously long legs, was somehow even funnier. She didn’t bother to hide her smile as she started the engine, waiting for him to close the door before backing out of the space. 

He told her the address, which she was familiar with. Isbire had a public showground used for things like circuses and conventions. 

“Are you not going to fold the roof back?” he asked curiously. His fingernails scratched lightly at the black canvas above him. 

Nacyri shook her head, indicating left. The air-conditioning was fast replacing the warmth of the Isbirien day with an almost blistering cold. She adjusted the temperature slightly. “I like to feel the wind, but we’ll be sitting in traffic. I don’t want to breathe in unfiltered smoke.” 

“So you never...?” The way he said it implied the uselessness of her having a convertible. 

The street was clear. She pulled onto it. “The top comes off when I leave the city. Also, put on your seatbelt.” 

“Pardon?” Hisoka, who had been gazing out the window, looked at her in bewilderment. 

“Your seatbelt,” Nacyri insisted as the clinic grew further away. “Put it on.” 

The man beside her snorted derisively. “Doc, that’s the funniest thing you’ve said to me.”

She shrugged, “As inconvenient and problematic as you are, I don’t want you launching through the windscreen.” 

“I’m a Nen user,” he dismissed. “We’re _both_ Nen-users. They could drop three cars on us and they wouldn’t scratch us unless we wanted them to. I should know. People have tried. We’re quite safe.” 

It was good to know that she wasn’t the only one Hisoka had irritated to the point of potential murder. “Sure, _we’re_ safe. But what if, Nen-enhanced as you undoubtedly will be, you get projectile-launched through somebody _else’s_ car? They’d die instantly.” 

“A kinder death than most, then,” he told her. 

“Hisoka, _please._ Put your damned seatbelt on.” 

He sighed dramatically, reaching behind him. The _click_ sounded throughout the car. “Only for you, Doc.” 

“I appreciate it,” she told him. Because she did. Hisoka had said he would play nice and, astonishingly, he was. She needed to reward good behaviour, even if it was just a simple “Thank you.” 

He waved away her gratitude with an effortless gesture. “Don’t mention it.” 

The drive to the showground was… interesting, if a bit quiet. Traffic was predictably awful, but Isbire looked rather beautiful through the glass. The pink in the cotton candy skies - fitting, given their destination - was steadily disappearing, as though some giant was devouring the sunset colour by colour. She didn’t mind the silence, preferred it to his teasing, but she wasn’t sure how they were supposed to do anything resembling therapy if it endured.

 _Ah, well..._ She told herself to enjoy this little bit of peace as she slowed for the red light. No doubt, he would resume his antics with time. 

Nacyri had been doing so well at maintaining a relatively dignified facade until some asshole cut into her lane without indicating. She slammed on the breaks, just barely managing to stop in time, rolling down her window to make way for a torrent of curse words that would have made her mother blush were she alive, concluding with: “I swear, if there is a single scratch on my baby I’ll fucking pick up your car and toss it through a building you absolute _dick!_ Fuck you!” The words were punctuated with the sound of her horn. 

Laughter snapped her out of her rage. Face covered with a pale hand, shoulders shaking with mirth, Hisoka… had a surprisingly cute laugh. It was so unexpected that she forgot to accelerate, jumping as a chorus of beeps now signalled for her attention. Karma was, indeed, a bitch.

“Shit,” she muttered, face burning bright red as they launched forward.

And Hisoka absolutely lost it in her passenger seat. 

"Shut up," Nacyri complained. She couldn’t look at his stupid, delighted face anymore. Not when her own was hot enough to cook an egg. 

Embarrassment quickly turned to irritation as she waited until he was done.

“Mmmm…” he grinned, hand falling away. Gaiety had turned his eyes into two crescent moons. “Through a building, huh? Is the seat belt to protect them from me, or from you?” 

“Hey, look! We’re almost there!” Her peppy tone, unfortunately, failed to mask the annoyance on her face. 

“I could have sworn I tasted real bloodlust back there.” The tips of his nails drew lines up the inside of her wrist, catching slightly on Mitsuki's shirtsleeve. Her fingers tightened around the gearstick as the edge of a bruise peeked out. “If I had known that all I needed to do was threaten your car, I wouldn’t have bothered with that sweet little receptionist of yours.” 

“Hisoka…” she warned. 

He retracted his hand, still teasing. “You’re rather lovely when you’re angry. It’s very entertaining.” 

“Then, I’m about to be fucking stunning,” she snapped. Regretted it immediately. _Breathing exercises, Nacyri,_ the psychologist reminded herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I get a little… intense… when I’m driving.” In most areas of her life, she was extraordinarily calm. Road rage was probably her version of stress relief, an outlet for all the other bullshit she had to put up with. And she’d been putting up with a lot recently. 

Hisoka held his fingers a hairsbreadth apart, a contrast to his wide, mocking smile, “Just a little.” 

Nacyri indicated to the right, guiding the car into a new street. “We’re pretty close. Do you… I don’t know… have tickets, or something?” 

Before she could react, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, goosebumps forming where he touched. That was the problem she'd originally foreseen with driving: it kept her hands engaged, dulling her reaction time. She went to bat his hand, but he pulled back. A ticket had appeared between his fingers which, with a subtle gesture, became two. 

Nacyri rolled her eyes. “You’re so difficult,” she told him, “All you had to do was say ‘yes’.” 

Hisoka shrugged lazily, looking out the window. “I feel the same about you, Doc.” 

She honestly didn't know what to say to that. 

When Nacyri had found a suitable place to park, the sky had turned fully blue. Alongside a giant candy cane big top tent, swirls of flashing neon advertised all kinds of carnival rides. The smell of dust, sweat, and burnt sugar filled the air and Nacyri couldn’t help but notice how well it suited him. Hisoka looked like he’d popped out to do errands and was coming home to his trailer. 

He flashed the tickets at the front gate, which were briefly perused for validity before they were swept inside. 

The riot of the carnival assaulted her senses in a pleasantly nostalgic way. Travelling circuses often stopped at her hometown on their way into Padokea, but she hadn’t been to one since, well, her mother had passed. 

“Hungry?” he asked her. “There’s some time to kill before the show starts.” 

Nacyri hadn’t been feeling hungry. At least, not until the smell of funnel cakes and dagwood dogs caused her stomach to rumble. “Yes, actually. But no killing.” It'd been a joke, right? 

“Hmm... No promises." He fanned himself with their stamped tickets, bubblegum pink Nen making them straight and suddenly deadly. He winked at her disapproving look, releasing his Shu. The printed paper became harmless once more. "Let’s go." 

They bought a whole feast of typical carnival foods: deep-fried dagwoods, a huge tub of potato chips with thick gravy, toffee apples, and ridiculously loaded funnel cakes. She’d paid this time, too proud to let him do it twice in a row. When they managed to find a table that wasn’t sticky, Nacyri made her way through the savoury foods, watching with interest as Hisoka delicately shred his funnel cake with his nails before dipping them in the icecream. He’d disappeared very briefly and returned with freshly spun fairy floss, which he also picked apart and ate. 

“Sweet tooth,” she accused, pointing at him with a gravy-soaked chip. 

Hisoka paused. Speared a strawberry and plopped it into his mouth. It was the exact same shade as his hair, though she was relying more on the light pouring from the food stalls over the darkening sky for comparison. “I suppose so.” 

Nacyri took a bite from the chip. “How can you eat pure sugar, fat, and carbs and still have, like, eight percent body fat?” Nen, perhaps? She wasn't sure.

“Excuse me,” Hisoka muttered indignantly, “it’s _six_ percent.” Further information was clearly not forthcoming. That made sense - Hisoka seemed to enjoy keeping his cards close to his chest. At least, until he tried to disembowel somebody with them. 

The psychologist rolled her eyes. “You must train incredibly hard.” _Does he like to downplay the effort he puts into himself?_ Did he enjoy presenting as some effortlessly untouchable god of war? But that was impossible: he was only human, after all. 

He ate another strawberry. “You get stronger or you die,” was his careless answer. “That’s how it works.” 

It was probably the most honest thing he'd ever said to her. Perhaps he didn't realise it, but his idealisation of strength, this endless pursuit of power, the vicious enjoyment when he emerged victorious - it all stemmed from this one, fundamental concept. Eat or be eaten. 

_What a terrible way to see the world,_ Nacyri thought with pity. He'd probably learned through personal experience, too. Had found himself in an inescapable place, endlessly disappointed by his own weakness. And that was one of the things that made therapy so difficult: a lot of the time, people formed coping habits and beliefs as a means of survival. Because, sometimes, the only options are between 'bad' or 'worse'. And maybe, at the time, they were necessary. The real problems came later, in safer situations, when those hard-learned lessons no longer applied. When those mechanisms were no longer protective, but destructive. 

She shook her head and finished the potato chip in her hand. “Doesn’t have to be like that,” she said, putting all her strength into the words. _The world does not have to be so cruel._ “You know that, right? There are other paths you can take.” 

Hisoka smiled at her condescendingly and dipped a piece of dough into his ice cream. 

And, apparently, that was that on _that_ conversation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Japanese voice actor of the 2011 Hisoka is the best and you cannot change my mind (I had his laugh in mind). 
> 
> By the way, I want to thank you all for all the interest you keep showing in this. It fuels my creativity ridiculously when you interact - plus it's fun! Anyway, I have to study. I'll do the obligatory obsessive edits over the next few days but, if you spot a typo or something, feel free to let me know!
> 
> Somanoko art (I just love how their Nen colours blend into each other where they touch, omg):  
> [](https://ibb.co/s2sDF2c)  
> [image hoster](https://imgbb.com/)  
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de69up2-579d71ab-597b-424f-b667-fbe32b745421.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTY5dXAyLTU3OWQ3MWFiLTU5N2ItNDI0Zi1iNjY3LWZiZTMyYjc0NTQyMS5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.5HIFBW594OIdtBWFOy0epsgflcID-rFVolnJ2aZazU8


	5. There's No Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **And the rising tide  
>  Is under my skin, is crawling inside,  
> Adrenaline to rewire my mind,  
> I'm only human, I come with knives,  
> I never promised you an open heart or charity...  
>  _\- I Come With Knives, IAMX_**   
> 

When they were finished with their food, most of which Hisoka ate with notable enthusiasm, they stood up. 

“Do you like carnival food?” she asked. She’d been wondering for a while if he had some connection to it. The carnival. The circus. It suited him far better than her office did. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if, any moment now, he started juggling swords. 

He smiled at her, sensed her probing intent. “It’s designed for hedonism, not nutrition. What’s not to like?” 

It was an answer that didn't actually answer anything - apparently his favourite kind of response. The psychologist sighed. “Let’s go.” 

Hisoka grabbed her hand. She shook it off. He didn't bother to hide his small smile. “Before the show, there’s something I want to do,” he told her. “So just follow my lead.” 

“Uh oh,” Nacyri half-teased, also half-serious. Anxiety mixed unpleasantly with the processed food in her stomach. 

She didn’t have to see his face - even his back somehow managed to convey his amusement. 

The blue evening was polluted by the light blazing from every corner. Tinny songs blared from ride speakers, syncopated with screams of terror and laughter. Machinery whirred and beeped and flashed in kaleidoscopic colour. Stray strands of straw mingled on the cobblestones with the dust from thousands of pairs of feet. The big top glowed red and cream, its huge girth swelling with light and the streams of patients swallowed by its gaping entrance.

She had shaken away his touch, because it wasn’t difficult to follow him. Bright clothes aside, she might even be able to sense his loud pink aura from the opposite side of grounds. It was… quite unique. Sickly sweet and almost… Nacyri frowned. Sticky? How odd. 

Her fingers reached forward on impulse, trailing through the aura just behind his left tricep. It clung to her slightly, like thick honey. No, that wasn’t right… 

The man in front of her stopped. “And you told _me_ to keep my hands to myself.” The teasing tone almost distracted her from the goosebumps that had formed on his pale, bare skin. 

And Nacyri realised she’d been running her fingers through somebody else’s _life force._ She pulled her hand back instantly, but strings of his aura clung to her skin. Did it remind her of toffee? Again, not quite - it was a little too springy and elastic for toffee. “I’m so sorry,” she said, absolutely mortified. “I realised I don’t know much about your Nen, but I should have asked instead of invading your space.” _Take notes,_ was her sour mental addition. 

Hisoka hummed, eyes drifting down to her hand. “Bungee Gum,” he said. 

“My gosh, I just got smacked in the face with nostalgia.” Nacyri said, reeling a little. “I loved that gum as a kid.” 

His head tilted interestedly, “You know it?” 

“Yeah, I threw a small tantrum when they stopped producing it,” she replied, suddenly embarrassed by a memory over two decades old. Okay, maybe ‘small’ was an understatement. Her father had been an absolute saint that day. 

“We shared a common disappointment, then,” Hisoka replied with a secret smile. His eyes were oddly far away, almost glowing in the light from the tornado potato stand behind her. His tear hovered, gravity-defiant on his cheek. Pink tear... Green star… 

Nacyri snapped her fingers. “Makeup!” she yelled excitedly, snapping him from his daze. A few people around them gave her sideways glances. 

Hisoka looked at her. “Pardon?” 

“That’s where I’ve seen it! On the packet! Yellow star and pink tear, right?” She peered up at him. He wasn’t _that_ much taller than her, even with heels, but he used every centimetre of height to his advantage. “You must have really liked it to incorporate the design into your makeup.” 

He stared. “You…” his voice trailed off. For the first time ever, he looked genuinely caught off-guard. 

Nacyri felt it again. That excitement. But she quelled her urge to pursue it. Forced herself to move on. It wouldn’t do to spook him - she could pry later. “The name fits.” Nacyri rubbed his aura between her fingers, trying to get it off. It stubbornly stuck to her, exactly like the bubble gum. Even the colour was perfect: all unexpected, hot pink nostalgia. “Feels very Transmuter.”

“Bingo!" he booped her on the nose and a small, dissuasive growl erupted from her throat. The clown laughed. "My Bungee Gum - Elastic Love, if you will - has the properties of both rubber and gum.” 

“So your aura sticks to things,” she mused, scraping at her palm with her nails to no avail. “How… handy.” 

Hisoka snorted inelegantly, “Maybe leave the puns to me, Doc. Shall we?” He offered his arm to her.

She narrowed her eyes. “I can walk by myself.” 

“Indeed,” Hisoka confirmed, smiling down at her. The thin threads of aura stretching out between them suddenly snapped taut, forcing her forward, hand wrapping around his bicep as if he were escorting her. As if they were a couple. “But you should stick close, Doc. The crowds are a little thick.”

Nacyri rolled her eyes and tried to pull her hand away, only to find that she couldn’t. She reinforced her arm, pulling harder, but she barely managed to get her hand an inch away before his Nen snapped back. His skin was incredibly soft and smooth beneath her fingers, the muscle like warm, living stone.

Nacyri studiously ignored the fact that he had nice arms, prioritising how she might retrieve her damned hand. Her first instinct was to pry it off with her other one, but he might just trap that too… She shuddered. The thought of being at the mercy of Hisoka, both hands bound, made her very glad that her Nen ability could be activated with a thought.

He led her towards the circus tent, weaving easily through the crowd. When she questioned him about his plans, he simply hummed or ignored her, which was unsurprising. He could be such a recalcitrant thing. 

Her hand was still about his bicep. Apparently, he was the only one who could attach or detach his Nen. Which made her think of all the times they’d touched, all the times she’d brushed him off. It seemed she’d only been able to do so because he’d let her. A fact that was both chilling and comforting: on one hand, he’d been more gracious than she’d perhaps thought, but it also brought to focus just how easy it would be for him to force her to his side. A fellow Nen-user, she wasn’t weak, by any means. His Bungee Gum (the ‘Bungee’ seemed all the more apt) was simply that strong. 

The entrance yawned bright with warm electric light. She almost thought that they’d enter but, just before they reached the ticket master, Hisoka veered to the side. And Nacyri, literally stuck with him, had no choice but to follow. They skirted the outside of the tent, moving further away from the masses and behind. Caravans and smaller tents came into view, but these structures weren’t for show. A distinctly homey, lived-in atmosphere contrasted the glitz just behind them. People with clipboards and radios passed down orders like they were from God Himself to technicians heaving about large crates and hurried performers in various stages of dress. 

Hisoka paused before they actually reached the caravans, listening intently before nodding subtly to himself. His Nen’s grip on her loosened. It was a peculiar feeling. She pulled away, and he let her, bending to grasp at the bottom of the tent. The PVC crinkled as it lifted. “Ever snuck backstage before, Doc?” 

Nacyri ducked under without hesitation. “Of course,” she replied. 

He followed her, smoothing out the tent side once more. “Really?” He sounded surprised. 

“Hey, I was young once.” She smiled a little fondly as she looked about. 

They were truly behind the scenes. Metal scaffold spines supported the giant backdrops, a chaotic tangle of wires connecting screens and spotlights and other electronics to humming generators. The dull buzz of the crowd lay just behind, the excitement like a second current she could physically feel. Nacyri loved it. She’d always liked peering behind the proverbial or literal curtain. Had done so often in her 20s, reluctant Mitsuki in tow, since Nen made it so very easy to do so and not get caught.

He stopped scanning their surroundings to raise a thin eyebrow at her. “You’re not that old, surely.” 

“Thirty-four this year,” Nacyri told him, popping a smile. “I’m practically ancient. And you?” 

Hisoka hummed, “I’m twenty-seven.” 

Nacyri blinked. “Twenty-seven?” she repeated. “That’s... unexpected.” She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. Six years between them. Of course, age gaps mattered less with time but it was strange to realise just how _young_ he was. He didn’t feel particularly young, nor inexperienced per se, but abused kids rarely did. They grew up fast and paid for it later, borrowing traits from their future selves at high rates of interest. 

He shrugged, “Makes perfect sense to me.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’ve always been attracted to older people.” 

The psychologist opened her mouth to say something about that, but a tanned, hulking figure in a purple leopard leotard rounded into view. He started when he saw them, “Oi! What are you-” 

_Shit,_ she thought. They’d been caught. The part of her that was a mature, responsible, law-abiding citizen flooded with panic. 

But then, the strongman’s eyes drifted over Hisoka’s outfit, the makeup and hair, coming to a logical, but incorrect, conclusion. “Are you… new?” He was on top of them now, literally, towering over the both of them, all brawn and rippling muscle, hairless except for a truly exceptional violet moustache.

Hisoka recovered immediately. “Yes, I am. I don’t think we’ve met before. Hisoka.” He extended his hand with a pleasant smile. 

Nacyri wanted to laugh, but she didn’t want to ruin it. Of course they’d assume he was part of the show. Okay, this could be fine. Maybe they wouldn’t be forced to escape, chased by a horde of angry, multi-coloured carnies. 

The strongman’s hand completely engulfed Hisoka’s pale, elegant fingers. “Maybel. But why is there a…” He looked at Nacyri and shook his head. “Local talent,” he muttered darkly. “What’s your act?” 

“Trapeze,” Hisoka breezed, cocking a hip, “But I can do a bit of everything.” 

_“Trapeze?”_ the strongman spluttered. “You’re filling in for Jax, right?”

“I am.” He sounded so certain, so honest, that even Nacyri was half-way to believing him. 

The man somehow managed to look even _more_ alarmed. “You’re the second act, man! What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing here with _her?”_ He took deep breaths, calming himself. Nacyri was actually a little proud. “Whatever, we don’t have time for this. Come with me. You go find your seat, missy.” 

“Wait, Hi-” 

Hisoka’s gaze flicked to hers, dancing with laughter. “You heard him,” he purred. “Go back and enjoy the show. I’ll find you afterwards.” 

And he turned from her. 

Nacyri bit her lip, looking at the two. She’d come here with Hisoka, but she suddenly felt like an outsider as she watched the men leave. Besides, he looked like he was having a little too much fun, which worried her for obvious reasons. How far was Hisoka going to take this? Was he playing along to give her an opportunity to escape without the hassle of getting caught? 

“At least you’ve done your makeup.” The giant was scowling lightly, “Next time, keep it in your pants till _after_ the show.”

“Duly noted,” Hisoka replied graciously. They disappeared from view, leaving Nacyri alone and a little disappointed. 

It was probably easier for them to sneak out separately and meet back. But he’d said he had something to do, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been curious to accompany him. He was so very controlled about what he showed her, so every little breakthrough felt more significant than usual. 

Nacyri glanced around. The main hive of activity seemed to be outside, so this small area was deserted once more. She briefly contemplated following but, unfortunately, that little cover story was a one time trick. 

With a sigh, she lifted the PVC. It was taut and resistant, so pulling it open was harder than Hisoka had made it look. “Showoff,” she muttered. 

The bright night opened up before her once more. The people behind the caravans had more pressing things to deal with, so she went unnoticed as she circled back to join the crowds of people. Jostled about and carried by an inexorable stream of elbows and warm breath, she almost missed having him next to her. People seemed to unconsciously clear the way for Hisoka. _And for good reason,_ she thought. 

“Ticket, miss?” asked a man by the door. The bells on his fool’s cap jingled softly. He was dressed as a jester in red, black and gold, diamonds tesselating up the left side of his body. The ensemble was completed by a gold half-mask and a smile to match. 

“Oh!” Nacyri blinked, then cursed. “My… companion took them… How much for one?” she fished her wallet from her pant pocket and flipped it open. 

“No need. That’s it there, miss,” the ticket master said, pointing with a finger. 

Nacyri stared at the show ticket that had somehow made its way into her purse. _“Hisoka,”_ she hissed. She wasn’t sure whether she should slap him or thank him. Maybe both? 

Anyway, she handed over the ticket and was ushered inside. 

The big top might have looked large on the outside, but it was positively cavernous inside. Mellow lights strategically lit the lower half of the tent, made it feel cozy and inviting even as the darkness at the top waited patiently for its descent. Giant screens and expensive-looking cameras bordered the ring, waiting to transmit every tiny detail to the audience that had already almost filled the grandstands. Nacyri had been to carnivals before, but she could already tell that this was probably the biggest, most high-budget show she’d been to. 

She waved away a pretty acneic girl with a tray of buttered popcorn and took a seat about halfway up the grandstand, cold metal leaching the warmth from her thighs. She should be able to keep an eye out for Hisoka at this height. Just in case, though, she flexed her Nen slightly, teal aura swirling about her. 

But five minutes after she’d sat, the lights were dimming and he still hadn’t found her. Shapes moved in the black, signalling for the audience to hush. Nacyri licked her bottom lip, teasing the rough skin with her teeth. What if something had gone very, very wrong?

_It’s fine,_ she told herself. _He can take care of himself._ Then she frowned. Of course Hisoka could take care of himself - it was everybody else she ought to be worrying about. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a smooth voice billowed around the room, permeating the darkness. The resounding _thud-thuds_ of drums punctuated his words like a heartbeat. “What you’re about to see will stun you, terrify you, enchant you.” _Thud-thud._

A sudden, giant plume of fire erupted from the stage, briefly illuminating the figures before, before the lights blazed to life. The sudden transition had the audience blinking stars from their vision, even as organised chaos bloomed below. 

Dancers and acrobats and animals frolicked and played, doing cartwheels and flips, juggling all manner of objects. Suits of cards and other traditional motifs danced about on bodies stuffed and twisted into all sorts of costumes. Hisoka would have blended in perfectly with them. 

...Nacyri stared at the ring, an idea forming in her head. _Surely not._

She scanned the crowd, studying the faces of the performers. It was hard when everybody was exchanging places so quickly, but... _He’s not there…_ She relaxed. Well, he’d told her to enjoy the show. She should probably take the opportunity, especially while he wasn’t around to distract her. 

The performers came together in a giant human pyramid just as the drumbeats reached their crescendo. Then the beat disintegrated, the pyramid crumbling with controlled destruction. As quickly as they came, they left. Like the ocean tide sweeping onto the shore. 

“We are the Nightlock Circus!” a ringmaster stood in the centre, the performers tumbling around and behind him until he was alone with his powerful baritone. He still managed to fill the space. “And we welcome you to a night of mystery, of magic, and of mayhem.”

He bowed with a flourish of his top hat. 

And then the lights went out, and the black descended once more. 

A single spotlight illuminated a petite girl sat on a trapeze, dressed in a glittering white catsuit patterned with lace. Music began, a single harp soft and delicate as the hour before dawn. Nacyri recognised this music. The piece was called _Faminaen,_ a traditional trapeze routine about a girl who meets a lover in her dreams. It was a rather sweet tale, a classic that was eventually adapted for the ballet and opera. 

Stillness unwound in the air as her legs uncrossed gracefully. Then the girl fell backwards, as if into a comfy bed instead of empty space, grabbing the bar, body unfolding until she hung in the air by her arms. She ‘stretched’, like she’d just woken up from a pleasant dream. Nacyri shook her head in wonder… The strength it took to make that movement seem natural, as if she weren’t hanging perilously far off the ground… 

A second spotlight flickered, briefly illuminating a second, empty trapeze above her. Something… Nacyri looked at that trapeze, a strange anxiety in her stomach. There was something ominous about that deserted trapeze. 

The girl slid into a toe hang and was rewarded with polite clapping with the audience. She flipped upwards into a backwards roll, recovering at the bar, when the light flickered again.

The second trapeze was no longer empty.

A shiver of recognition went down her spine as a familiar afterimage burned her retinas. _What the actual…_ Even as a silhouette, Nacyri would recognise that predatorial presence anywhere. 

Hisoka crouched on the trapeze, looking down at the girl with a smile. And sweet notes of the harp somehow seemed to sour a little. Perhaps the girl was not waking from a dream, but falling into a terrifying nightmare.

He was dressed in a matching outfit, but the white wasn’t fooling anybody. His hair, beneath the lights, was the colour of fresh blood. The glitter of rhinestones and sequins seemed only to emphasise the muscles on his body, and the words of another folk tale drifted through her head: _“All the better to catch you with, my dear.”_ He looked like he was going to eat her whole. As if he could hear her thoughts, Hisoka’s eyes went straight to Nacyri, dropping into a wink, before returning to the figure below. 

Unaware, the girl did a handstand on the bar, legs coming to a perfect split. She rotated about the bar a couple of times, careless and free in her ignorance, finishing in a standing pose that gave her a glimpse of the watchful intruder. 

The audience knew the moment she registered his presence. 

Hisoka finally moved, hooking his legs (Nacyri was pretty sure it was called a mermaid pose, though her circus terminology was a bit lacking) about the rope and twirling, twirling, twirling into a half-angel, the clawed tips of his fingers reaching greedily for her. 

The girl flinched out of the way, which made him smile. Thus began the chase. 

In the original _Faminaen,_ this scene was supposed to be a dance of love and longing, the dream pulling the lovers apart every time they got close, but Hisoka turned it into a game of cat and mouse, moving with violent grace, his poses infused with possession. Nacyri wasn’t certain he’d informed his partner of the changes, either. At first she played coy and demure, sticking to the original script, but her unease was visibly growing. 

Hisoka coiled to spring just as a third trapeze flew towards her. She leapt for it, just as Hisoka jumped. He fell through the air from that terrifying height, narrowly missing her body, and Nacyri’s heart skipped a beat. 

Of course, any Hunter was guaranteed to be athletic, with sharp reflexes and intense strength, but it was still a rather long drop. And, perhaps because of what Nacyri had learned, she wasn’t entirely sure that he would use Nen to save himself from the fall. 

As if to mock the psychologist for her unconscious concern, Hisoka caught the bar, making complicated, unbelievable shapes with perfect nonchalance as he circled about the trapeze. 

Momentum brought the girl back to the centre, just as a fourth trapeze was thrown her way. Hisoka let go of his trapeze, narrowly missing her a second time, clutching only at empty metal absence. A tiny bit of bloodlust streaked his vibrant aura with black as he followed her through the air. She screamed as she felt it, the sound shattering any illusions the audience had of gentleness. Nacyri’s hand came to her throat as she watched, anxiety filling her chest. 

Real fear showed on the female acrobat's face now, in her movements, and the undertones of _Faminean_ seemed toxic and discordant rather than soothing and romantic. Instead of a pale prince, Hisoka became a spectral, acrobatic nightmare with talons for fingers, an Angel of Death that pursued her relentlessly. This was a perversion of the story, written in blood, told to a captive audience, and not a single person could look away. The conclusion was inevitable, of course - they could all see it coming, but they still waited with bated breath. 

The harp plucked at the final strains. The girl’s chest was heaving. He’d run her ragged through the air, patiently waiting for her to falter. 

She made a final leap for the trapeze that might save her, but she was exhausted.

Her fingers missed by inches, clutching at empty space.

Screams of horror erupted from the audience, even as Hisoka launched through the air. He caught the trapeze with his left foot and her wrist with his right hand. They hung like that in the air and Nacyri was reminded of leopards, how they hung the carcasses of their prey in trees. 

He smiled down at her contentedly, his other foot securing its place around the bar. The girl stared back with wide eyes, trapped between a monster and a fall. Suspended in the darkness, it was like nothing existed but the two of them. 

Very deliberately, Hisoka extended his free hand to her. The meaning was clear. Out of all the amazing acrobatics, this moment of stillness was the climax of the story. He had played the game, had cornered her into his arms. But would she accept him, succumb to him? Or would she defy him to the end and risk the fall? 

After what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only several heartbeats, the girl took his hand. 

Then the lights dimmed, the story ended, and _Faminaen_ faded into a heavy silence. 

Which held for several more heartbeats, before the crowd went absolutely _insane._

The roar of the crowd deafened her ears as Nacyri hurried down the stairs. Hisoka had promised to find her after the show, but there was no way in hell that she was going to simply wait for him. 

She wove her way through the throng, broadcasting her intent. People parted before her like magic as she escaped into the night, gasping for lungfuls of fresh air. She gazed at the sky, chest heaving. Hisoka’s performance had been so utterly enthralling that she hadn’t realised how weighted down and stuffy it had been inside. How he'd literally taken her breath away. 

“You alright, miss?” asked the ticketmaster from before. 

Nacyri waved away the jester’s concern. “I’m fine, thank you. I just needed some air.” 

“There’s plenty of it around here,” he joked. “We won’t even charge you.” 

That earned him a small, wry smile. “My thanks,” she told him, and left. 

She forced her senses to become more alert as she made her way around the big top. Hisoka would likely be changing out of his costume. If he hadn’t managed to do what he’d intended, then it was best to start where they’d parted ways. 

Nacyri found the spot in the tent, listening intently. Hurried footsteps, muffled by the soft grass, passed her. _Hmm, it’s better not to wander around blindly..._ She licked her lips, drawing in her teal aura, trapping it beneath her skin. She closed her eyes and focused. 

There. She could feel his presence. That sticky sweet aura called to her. Nacyri turned her head to him, eyes fluttering open. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Hisoka was in one of the caravans. 

She crept closer, staying to the shadows. She wasn’t an expert tail by any means, but she wasn’t stupid. She was quiet and measured, moving only when she was certain she wouldn’t be discovered. 

Finally, she was close enough to the caravan that she started to pick up voices. 

“...the _fuck_ was that... You could... killed...” 

Two voices, one of them Hisoka’s. She couldn’t quite make out all the words. Ahead, the flurry of activity had grown more frantic now that the show was on. It was fortunate, since they were less likely to wander inconveniently in her direction, but also less fortunate in that the music obscured their conversation. 

Nacyri hurried closer until she was just outside, pressing flat against the generic white surface. The words were perfectly clear now. 

“...I haven’t heard from him in years. Last I heard they were performing for pittance up the west coast. He had big plans for getting back in the game, but then he always did,” said a man. Ah, Nacyri recognised this voice now. The ringmaster.

“Could you tell me who might know of his more recent whereabouts?” There was a heavily implied ‘or else’, his jaunty tone saturated with threat. Nacyri huffed out a silent laugh. That was the Hisoka she knew. 

“Out for a little revenge are you?” the ringmaster taunted. “Did he cheat you out of money? Or are you one of his-” 

“I’m playing nice, right now,” Hisoka interrupted, his voice warm and pleasant. It sent the worst kind of shivers down her spine. Oh, he was _serious._ “But if you try to finish that sentence, I will sever your vocal chords.”

Nacyri covered her mouth, eyes wide. 

“So it’s true,” the man said. “My sympathies, but I can’t help you.” 

Hisoka made a dismissive noise. “Then, there’s no point in lingering.” 

Nacyri tensed, suddenly aware that she would be immediately spotted the moment either of the men exited. _Ah…_ She clearly hadn’t thought this through. She began running as quickly and quietly as she could. If she hurried, she might be able to return to her seat, pretending she hadn’t been rudely eavesdropping after lecturing Hisoka about boundaries. She could sit in her hypocrite seat and eat her buttered, hypocrite popcorn. 

“Wait! We’re headed for Mimbo Republic after this. Why don’t you stay with us?” Even with the rapidly growing distance, Nacyri could hear the insistence in the ringmaster’s tone. “You seem a tad unhinged, but... that was an amazing performance, and I’ve been looking for a new aerial artist.” 

“Hmmm, no,” Hisoka replied. Whatever he said afterwards was lost to space and distance. 

She rounded the corner and slowed as the caravans were replaced with the view of the patrons still making their way to the big top. 

Suddenly, Nacyri was yanked backwards. Pale, hard arms spun her around, pushing her up and against the tent wall. The PVC gave slightly beneath her weight, but ultimately held. 

He kissed her fiercely, velvet mouth hot against hers. 

Nacyri squirmed in his iron grip, but he didn’t budge. She bit his tongue, but he only moaned, pressing against her harder. She grunted, releasing her Zetsu, drawing teal aura into her fist and pushing at his chest. “Hisoka,” she shoved him away. “What the hell was that?” 

“I said I’d be good but, as it turns out, it’s not to my taste.” His expression was dark. 

“No, I mean inside. What was that about? What revenge?” Already caught, she might as well be honest. 

“Hmm… Sneaky girl, I knew it was you outside.” Hisoka tried to kiss her again, but she wedged her hand between them. He trapped her wrist there, licked at her fingers, taking them into his mouth and sucking and-

_Oh, fuck,_ she thought, feeling it throughout her body. Goosebumps dimpled her arms and she had to just... take a moment... to restart her brain. But just because it felt good didn’t excuse his actions. She thrust her fingers deeper. He gagged, throat flexing in surprise, rejecting the intrusion, and she used the brief moment to rescue her hand from him. “You can’t deflect to sex every time you get uncomfortable,” she told him. There was a cloud of sawdust obscuring the emotions swirling in her chest, stirred up by that stupid kiss. 

Those elegant fingers crept upwards to his mouth, then fell away. “I’ll admit, I’d be a lot more motivated to play nice if you gave in a little.” 

She glared at him defiantly. “You’re not a dog, Hisoka. I’m not required to give you treats for tricks.” 

He scoffed, irritated. There was no amusement in his face. “I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he said, flexing his hands. Those pretty yellow eyes of his bounced around with all the acrobatics of his earlier performance, if only to avoid her face. “It was a mistake.” 

One unexpected step forward, one expected step back. Anticipating his walls didn’t make smacking into them less frustrating. “Then, why did you?” she asked quietly. _Since you’re so determined to keep the past buried._ Because that’s what that conversation had been - a glimpse into his past - and he’d originally brought her here knowing that. 

She suppressed the hope in her chest. That 'why' made things complicated, but she couldn't afford to infer progress where there might be none. Not when people's safety depended on that progress. 

“I don’t know,” Hisoka said simply. He stepped back from her, re-establishing the distance between them.

It made her panic a little. _Damn it!_ This was not good. All the progress they'd just barely managed to make might unravel completely from this. How had it gone wrong so quickly? And how could she make it right? How at fault was she to begin with? 

Nacyri wished he would look at her, wanted to grab his sharp chin and force that golden gaze to hers. Wanted him to open up, even as she watched him shutting down.

She didn’t touch him, though. She’d done enough tonight. 

His painted features might as well have been an actual mask. “I’ll make my own way back. Enjoy the rest of the show.” 

And he left her alone in the darkness.

Nacyri bit back a scream of frustration. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, Somanoko really had the AUDACITY to make more incredibly epic artwork for the last chapter (I'm simping so hard)((I might post it here and then edit the notes in the last chap as well later)).
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)
> 
> [ ](https://ibb.co/VxPBMJJ)
> 
> Also, Nacyri with her hair down!
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)
> 
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> 
> 
> HD links, if y'all want them <3  
>    
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de77tnr-cb516cee-f852-47bc-8a72-4a8f3c18b380.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTc3dG5yLWNiNTE2Y2VlLWY4NTItNDdiYy04YTcyLTRhOGYzYzE4YjM4MC5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.xWWC5u9SoFp4cmSo_VyFjQ34hKfSRT1AJralgdaxW5g
> 
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de77oev-cab52df7-ff03-4267-bc3c-aaef2e7b2a49.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTc3b2V2LWNhYjUyZGY3LWZmMDMtNDI2Ny1iYzNjLWFhZWYyZTdiMmE0OS5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.RMYNciPCFCn1hazcnt-aYQBMxmn6jF_hEPCjZVl6X40
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> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de7n1qh-b3f94f27-e9aa-4056-91e7-02f407f66be2.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTduMXFoLWIzZjk0ZjI3LWU5YWEtNDA1Ni05MWU3LTAyZjQwN2Y2NmJlMi5qcGcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.owV_7Gx_Tmv4pXRPReM83RN_hKEcJ3fWeI90CXuV9MQ
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> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de7n1qn-ed546022-b713-4e17-baac-87d87560d856.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZTduMXFuLWVkNTQ2MDIyLWI3MTMtNGUxNy1iYWFjLTg3ZDg3NTYwZDg1Ni5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.oRA0b7JX2hkyq9R43b5Jx-jYbP9HxEEd-N4AMhkWm3g


	6. In an Empty-Calorie Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **'Cause we are alive, here in death valley,  
>  But don't take love off the table yet,  
> 'Cause tonight, it's just fire alarms,  
> And losing you, oh...  
>  _\- Death Valley, Fall Out Boy_**   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: ah yes, I can return to consistently posting once a week.
> 
> Life: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Me: ...every... 2 weeks? 
> 
> The Universe: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Me: Um, what abou-
> 
> God Himself: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Edit: the AO3 text formatting absolute massacred the smug emoticon but I kinda relate so I'm leaving the monstrosities up as they are lol.

Twenty-six. 

It’d been twenty-six days since she’d heard from him. 

The first two days, she’d welcomed the respite from the chaos he’d brought into her life, enjoyed the chance to sort out her thoughts, but… She hadn’t. 

A week after he’d left her in the dust of that bright-coloured night, she had tentatively called him, only for the dial tone to ring out into silence. She’d tried again the day after. Nothing. 

Every successive attempt to call ended in the same silent futility. 

Perhaps, to some, that might be a relief, but Nacyri knew better. People, especially those with personality disorders or deeply ingrained traits… Well, when they felt emotionally vulnerable in a situation and didn’t follow it to its healing conclusion, they often retreated back into what was comfortable and doubled-down. Hisoka doubling-down on his crazy… He was already a self-admitted murderer who handed out threats like they were pieces of bubble gum. So, instead of feeling more comfortable, every rotation of the hour hand wound her tighter. Every day that passed seemed to scramble her insides that little bit more. 

She rolled over, spidereagle silk sheets gliding over bare skin, to peer at the alarm clock beside her bed. Soft white numbers glowed in the room. 4:48AM. Okay, it could be worse. Far worse. 

“Time to get up, I guess,” Nacyri whispered to her ceiling. 

If nothing else, the extra twelve minutes added a certain sense of luxury to Nacyri’s already relaxed morning routine. Face mask on, she took the time to grind fresh coffee beans and actually cooked breakfast for once: her own homemade potato hashbrowns, served with fried mushrooms and tomatoes on freshly buttered toast. She set some aside in a small container for lunch, already anticipating her break. 

Her phone sat on the counter, waiting blankly. She ignored it, sliding it into her purse. 

Sari was on the phone when Nacyri first arrived to work, but the clacking of the keyboard ceased briefly so the receptionist could hand Nacyri a note. _“Jessmine away. Intake session first appointment: Bobby, 17. Female._ _ PRETTY PLEASE? _ _”_

Usually, Nacyri didn’t do intakes - they were usually reserved for junior psychologists or fresh graduates but, since Jessmine couldn’t come to work and Nacyri’s regular client had cancelled yesterday, she was utterly defenseless before Sari’s pleading expression. The psychologist nodded her acceptance, rewarded with a beaming smile before making her way to her office. 

The new patient Bobby was a sweet-looking girl with orange eyes and copper skin. Tears shimmered as the two made their way down the questions, but they never quite managed to fall. Instead, she made jokes in between casual confessions of abandonment and abuse involving a deadbeat father now out of the picture and a young mother who resented the child who 'stole her youth from her'. She’d struggled with bulimia for two years before going vegetarian, explaining that the first time she’d purged was because her mother had pointed her to the bathroom after expressing dissatisfaction with her daughter’s weight. Tale after tale fell like hammer blows, but Bobby’s voice refused to break. And the psychologist couldn’t help her admiration. Couldn’t help but compare.

This girl had been smashed to pieces by circumstances completely out of her control. Had been abused by the people who were supposed to ensure her safety and wellbeing. Had been forced to pick up the parts of herself and clumsily forge them back together. But instead of unleashing her anger and hurt on others, Nacyri felt a calm, unyielding determination to be healthier, kinder, and happier. And Nacyri... well, Nacyri was so proud of her. So very utterly proud. 

How different they were, Bobby and Hisoka. Both of them were strong in completely different ways. Unlike Hisoka, who obsessively chased after power, her strength was her conviction to take the cycle of violence and abuse that he had succumbed to and break it with her bare hands. 

_Ah…_ Nacyri’s teeth captured her bottom lip. _Again._ It was completely on-brand for him to invade her thoughts as much as he did her personal space. _I need to focus._ This girl deserved her full attention. She took a deep breath, re-centering on the clipboard in her hands. 

“So yeah,” Bobby said as they reached the end of the intake questions, “I’ve been working on myself for the last few years, now. Figured it was probably time I stopped putting off therapy.” 

“You’ve done a magnificent job,” Nacyri told her. “I’m well aware that, even if we leave you to your own devices, you’ll be fine. But, if you feel comfortable with the idea, I’d like to work with you.” 

The girl smiled sunnily, “I’d like that, too.” 

Her colleagues would be so jealous. Unlike a lot of clients, Bobby was receptive to advice and worked hard to put it into practise. She would flourish with therapy. “I’ll sort out the paperwork, then. Sari, our receptionist, will help you schedule an appointment.” Whether a cleaner or a lawyer or an artist, whatever this girl chose to do, she was going to be amazing. She couldn’t wait to see where Bobby would take herself. “From here on out, let’s do it together.” 

Bobby saluted her on the way out. “Take care, Doc.” 

“You too!” she replied, tasting blood where the skin on her lip had become jagged and raw. 

Hisoka appeared again during her lunch break. She was in the backroom with Sari when the latter questioned her about it. “I haven’t seen that crazy bastard around lately,” Sari said. “Did you manage to get rid of him?” 

“Maybe?” Nacyri sighed, taking a sip from her bottle of orange juice. “It’s been almost a month.” 

Sari clinked her cola can against the psychologist’s juice. “Let’s hope it stays that way.” 

“Yeah,” Nacyri agreed. She wasn’t exactly lying, per se. It would be nice for her life to resume some normalcy… His current absence didn’t count - this past month had left its mark in her tight shoulders. 

Should she leave it be? Her last attempt at calling him had been three days ago. Her persistence was a little strange, since Nacyri had no idea what she’d say to him if he were to actually pick up, but that didn’t seem to stop her fingers from finding his contact details… 

The last session of the day was one of her favourite clients. Normally, she tried not to play favourites, but she couldn’t help it. Alexis dragged her tired body through the door, but when she collapsed on Nacyri’s couch there was a smile on her face. “I hate my dad sometimes,” she proclaimed. Right to the point. “He’s such a bastard.” 

Nacyri was quite aware. They’d been through this several times already. Which was fine - Alexis needed repetition for things to really sink in. “It’s perfectly fine to feel that way. He hurt you a lot.” 

“Yeah…” Alexis turned slightly to face the psychologist. She’d tanned since escaping her father’s tightly controlled mansion. It was nice to see the sun’s touch on her skin, a physical mark of her hard-earned freedom. “I know he loves me. When I was little he’d always make time to see me, even when he was constantly busy with… well, you know…” 

Alexis’ dad had several enemies and he’d coped by controlling his daughter to the point where she was suffocating, alone and friendless in a huge, empty mansion. 

“He’d personally buy the most thoughtful presents, there was this one year… Actually… Ugh...” Alexis drifted off into space. “I miss him, I guess.” Another long pause. “I got the freedom I wanted. I knew it would be hard, but...” 

“Do you want to go back?” Nacyri asked, hands fisting slightly. That was not a desirable turn of events. Alexis had made remarkable progress but, if she returned now, everything they’d worked for would bow before the dominating will of her father. 

She’d never met Hyuon Iffitizi, only seen photographs of him. He was a large intimidating man. From Alexis’ stories, it was obvious he cared for his daughter, but he was under the impression that he could force her into docility. That if he showered her with designer dresses, expensive curios, video games and first edition books, she would sit still and pretty in her golden cage. 

Unfortunately for him, Alexis wasn’t like that. She was a curious child, desperate to see the world. And if a drink happened to be in his hand when she raised her complaints… well… Her longest period of confinement had been a month. 

“No,” Alexis shook her head firmly. The psychologist breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I hate the world that he lives in. It makes me sick just thinking about it. Every time he forgot to clean the blood from his nails, all I could think was that the money and power we were growing fat on was beaten or exhorted from honest, decent people. And just by existing, by eating the food on my plate, I was complicit.” 

“Alexis, you were a child,” Nacyri reminded her softly. “A dependent. You didn’t force your father to do those things. He’s a competent man who could have made a living some other way. You are _not_ responsible for his actions.” 

The disbelief persisted in her patient’s face. The denial. That was fine: it would take time before Alexis could truly believe those words, but Nacyri was willing to repeat them as many times as she needed. “It wasn’t your fault.” She let the silence linger, let the words sink in for a little longer, before moving on to the next point she wanted to address. “We’ve talked before about the distinction between your father, a loving and generous provider, and Hyuon Iffitzi, the punisher. You adore the former, while despising the latter. You want to please the former whilst rebelling against the latter.” 

Alexis sighed heavily. “ _Ugh,_ yeah... I know it’s stupid to want to please him-” 

“It’s not,” Nacyri interjected. Normally, she didn’t like to cut people off, but she wanted to address that before it got buried beneath other topics. “He’s your father. Just because he isn’t a very good man doesn’t mean there aren’t parts of him worthy of your love. But those loveable parts do not excuse his actions. The good does not mean you should ignore the evil, and vice versa.” 

The girl was silent, fiddling with the loose strands of her ripped jeans in a bid to avoid Nacyri’s dark eyes. “I just wish he was one or the other. It would be so much easier… If he was only an evil bastard, then I could cut off all ties and be satisfied with hating him. But he’s not… And yet...” Her voice was as tight as her clenched fists. Alexis closed her eyes, the exhaustion apparent. She’d found her second job a week ago, and she was clearly still adjusting. “All the fancy fucking cars and dinners can’t make up for the fact that he isolated me from the whole damned world. I wasn’t alive in that place. At least now, even if it’s a struggle, I’m the one making the decisions for myself. Everything I have in my shitty little apartment, I earned with my own two hands.” 

Nacyri nodded. This was good. Alexis needed pride in the fruits of her labour if she was going to push forward. “And you should be proud of that. This new journey that you’re embarking on, it likely won’t be easy. But, at least, it’ll be _your_ path that you chose for yourself.” 

The words hit home this time. Determination washed away some of the fatigue. “My path,” she said to herself. “Nobody else’s.” 

“Your path,” Nacyri agreed. 

Silence, then another slight backtrack: “I just wish it wasn’t so complicated.” 

The psychologist smiled faintly. “We’ve touched on several of these seemingly conflicting ideas. Your father, provider and punisher, and the love and hate you have towards him. At the moment, you seem to view him as two separate identities, and berate yourself for having such complex feelings regarding him. What I want for you is to focus on that integration. Like any human, your father is a complicated man. I dare say he has several facets outside of the ones you know. It's important to be able to accept those facets as a whole person, to stop seeing them as conflicting, and then extend that acceptance to your feelings regarding him. Make peace with the complicated.” 

“I suppose it’s counter-productive to keep wishing for simple, huh?” 

Nacyri spread her hands out in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “In my experience, people are rarely ever simple.” 

They chat a bit more about Alexis’ week. Things always seemed to be happening to that girl. It was as if the world, held back so long by the fierce glare of her father, was desperate to show her everything at once. It was naturally overwhelming, but she seemed to be coping. In fact, after so many years of suffocating stillness, Alexis embraced the chaos. Nacyri just had to remind her to take a breather once in a while. 

She bid Alexis goodbye and ran her fingers through her snow-coloured hair. 5PM. She’d finished on time, for once. 

Her phone lay silent and black on the desk, next to her canary yellow blazer. Waiting, as it had been all day. Waiting, as it had been all month. 

She stared at it. It stared back. 

_“Fine,”_ she said it low like a curse, grabbing it and sliding it into her purse. She shrugged on her blazer, locked up her office, bid Sari farewell, and strode out into the evening. 

Woollen clouds blanketed the sky, diffusing cool tungsten light through the streets of Isbire. 

Nacyri ignored her convertible, waiting so patiently in the carpark, for the green light of the pedestrian crossing. Bitumen, concrete, cobblestones: her brogued leather oxfords added subtly different sounds to the noisescape of the city as she made her way through it. 

It was busy as usual, people both exiting and entering, shops closing down and opening. The nightlife of Isbire was starting to open its eyes, like it could sense the sun was setting through the thick curtain of clouds.

She moved alone through the crowds, not exactly determined, but neither was she without purpose. As much as she wanted to stroll and soak up the atmosphere, she had to remain slightly alert on the unfamiliar route. Luckily, her intended destination was the most distinguishable feature in the Isbirien skyline.

When Nacyri arrived at the Arena, the sky was the colour of slate. Evening was a slow process on days like this: the clouds, hungry for illumination, greedily soaked up the glow of the city.

Ticket scalpers crowded about the entrance, shamelessly advertising tickets to passersby at outrageous costs. And people were _buying_ them. Nacyri shook her head and pushed her way inside. 

A bored looking receptionist was using her pen to push pieces of paper around the desk. “Hi, welcome to Heaven’s Arena. How can I help you?” she said in a peppy customer service voice. 

“I’m here to see one of the fighters,” Nacyri told her. 

“Name?” she asked. “I can call the room and see if they’re in.” 

“Hisoka Morow.” 

The receptionist tensed, then looked at the psychologist. “Sorry, no fans.” 

“I’m not a fan,” Nacyri denied. “He’s not answering his phone, and I’m worried…” 

“If he’s not ‘answering his phone’,” the girl made quotation marks with her fingers, “it’s because he doesn’t want to see you. You can’t go up to the residences without an escort.” 

“Then could you call him and ask to come down, please?” Nacyri asked, maintaining her composure. She knew the poor girl was trying to do her job, but it was still frustrating not to be taken at her word. 

“Can’t.” Short and swift. 

“But you _just_ said you’d be able to call his room.” 

The receptionist stared back blankly. “Not Hisoka’s,” she said finally. “He doesn’t take visitors.” 

Nacyri raised her eyebrow in interest. Really? Not even an attractive fan or two? “I’m his therapist,” Nacyri said. 

The girl snorted at that. “Yeah, good one.” 

“No, I actually am. Here’s my practising license.” She flipped open her purse. The words 'Dr Nacyri Fie' were stark beneath the photo of her face. 

She handed the card to the girl, who looked unimpressed. “Lady, do you know how many fake IDs we get per day? Especially from Hisoka’s fangirls.” She shrugged. “Crazy attracts crazy, I guess.” 

“It’s not-” 

_“-permitted,”_ the receptionist finished. “You can’t go up unless you’re a fighter or with one. Them’s the rules. If you want to see Hisoka so bad, buy tickets to his next match. Good day.” 

Nacyri took her card back silently, slipping it away and into her wallet alongside her annoyance. Well, she’d tried. She’d done her due diligence to assuage her conscience… 

She turned to leave, already looking forward to the bath waiting for her at home. 

"Oh!" A boy with hair like exclamation marks, all spiky and dark with green highlights in the light, looked at her with excitement. Nacyri blinked at the calm, beautiful flow of his Ten. It reminded her of the rivers back home. “You’re a Nen-user too!” he exclaimed, adjusting a bright green jacket, eyes glimmering like whiskey in a crystal glass. “Do you fight here?” 

Thoughts of that bath drained away and Nacyri shook her head. “I’m trying to visit one of the participants, though.” 

The kid perked up. “Who? I might know them!” 

“Hisoka,” Nacyri said hesitantly. “Hisoka Morow.” 

“Really?” Those beautiful eyes became big as saucers. “I know Hisoka! He’s on my floor. I’ll take you to him.” 

“Your… floor…?” Nacyri stared at the kid, a little slow on the uptake. Surely not… He couldn’t be more than 13. “You fight at Heaven’s Arena?” 

“Mmmm! It’s been really fun, so far!” The boy snatched up the psychologist’s hand and led her passed the gobsmacked receptionist, then through the crowd to an elevator. He pressed a button and the doors began to close. 200 glowed demurely, like it wasn’t the achievement it truly was. 

A preadolescent on the 200th floor and with an aura like that? Nacyri was ignorant to much regarding the Arena, but if _Hisoka_ was on that floor… This kid was a freaking monster. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” the boy chattered, oblivious to Nacyri’s shock. “I’m Gon.” 

_Gon._ The name vibrated through her being. Where…?

And then it hit her. The possessiveness in his voice flexing like a big cat sharpening its claws. Lovingly toxic and lethal. 

_“Give or take about 7 years... But I’m really not certain I can wait that long...”_

So that’s what he’d meant. 

Nacyri’s fists clenched. Suddenly, she was _incredibly_ glad she’d come here. They had so very many things to talk about. 

Gon blinked as her anger thickened the atmosphere. “Is something wrong?” He was a fighter at the Arena indeed. Instead of flinching at her murkier intentions, his eyes were calm but watchful. He'd noticed that she recognised his name. A monster indeed. 

She suppressed it with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I remembered something Hisoka said that made me a little angry.” 

“Hisoka seems to have that effect on people,” Gon agreed. “Killua doesn’t like him either.” 

“With good reason,” Nacyri said, eyeing him. “You should stay away from that man.” 

Gon shook his head, reaching into his pocket. “I can’t. I have to return this to him.” A white circular disk with the number 44 on it. It didn’t look particularly special, but… 

Nacyri held her palm out, “I can take it to him, if you like…?” 

Gon smiled. “No, he says I can’t give it back until I can punch him in the jaw really hard.” 

“That sounds like him,” Nacyri muttered. She blinked, realising she still hadn’t introduced herself. “By the way, I’m Dr Nacyri Fie,” she introduced. “You can call me Nacyri or Nas, if you like.” 

“Nacyri...” Gon repeated, beaming. She wasn’t sure what it was about the boy, but he reminded her of hiking through the forests at home. Cool and refreshing. Peaceful, but full of life. “That’s a cool name!”

A _ping_ sounded as they reached the 200th floor and she startled. How fast were these damned elevators? Then, doors opened. 

Nacyri was instantly on edge. Faint traces of Nen stirred the air, like petrichor before a thunderstorm. There were over a hundred different people on this floor and she could _feel_ every single one of them. 

“Does…” Nacyri licked her lips and looked at Gon. The boy had noticed her reaction and was patiently holding the button that kept the elevator doors open. “Is everybody on this floor a Nen-user?” She’d never been around this many in her life, so the flood of information bombarding her made her antsy. Honestly, she probably needed a minute to ground herself. 

Gon nodded, looking serious. “The fighters on this floor will initiate anybody who makes it here without Nen.” 

“But that’s…!” Before she could express her horror, three presences drew closer. 

“We can go back down, if you like,” Gon offered, looking slightly concerned. 

Nacyri shook her head. “No, let’s go. I was just a little disoriented.” And she followed him out of the elevator. 

They turned left at the corridor, passing by three people with various stages of disability. A red-clothed person balanced on a strong metal peg leg and cane, next to a spiky-haired man in a wheelchair and a pale-coloured man without eyes. Were these three victims of the brutal 200th floor initiation? 

Their gazes lingered on Gon before hungrily moving on to her. It reminded her of when she first had met Hisoka, the three sizing her up as an opponent, calculating their chances. They must have felt the odds to be favourable, since their mouths relaxed into sleazy smiles. Nacyri ignored them, despite the turbulence stirred up inside her from the clouds of ill-intentioned Nen. All she needed was one touch before the game was over. She might have difficulty laying her hands on the man in the motorised wheelchair, but even he would have trouble avoiding her in such a narrow hall. She paused slightly. But then, they were professional fighters of the famed Heaven’s Arena. It would be a mistake to dismiss them so easily. 

The silent clash of nerves followed them down the hall. The atmosphere was tense, but Nacyri did not find herself particularly impressed. Perhaps because she came into semi-frequent contact with Hisoka, she was becoming immune to threatening auras? 

Before they turned out of sight, Gon twisted and poked his tongue out at the watchful trio. Nacyri grinned. “So, how old are you?” she asked. “What brings you to the Arena?” 

“I’m 12!” the boy chirped, going on to explain how he and his friend, Killua, came here because they needed combat experience and money. “We met during the Hunter Exam! Actually, I met Hisoka there too. That’s where I got this badge. See...” 

Hunter Exam. Hunter. This boy was a Hunter. _What in actual… Isn’t he too strong?_ she thought dazedly. 

“...birds by the stream and- Oh, nevermind, we’re here!” Gon stopped abruptly and knocked on a door. 

She belatedly recognised the number 2032. It shone in the yellow light, gold as its occupant’s eyes. 

Silence from inside. 

“Hisoka?” Nacyri called, listening intently. She couldn’t hear anything.

“Huh, it doesn’t sound like he’s here,” the boy said. He sniffed the air subtly, like a bearhound. “Doesn’t smell like he’s here, either. Are you going to wait for him? I can wait with you! I’ve never met a friend of Hisoka’s before. Oh, except Illumi...” His nose wrinkled slightly. 

Nacyri snorted, “I’m not his friend.” _Illumi._ Another familiar name. And he was a friend? She’d had the impression that Hisoka was more of a lone-wolf than anything. 

Gon's eyes turned cautious. “Really? What are you, then?” 

“His therapist.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. Was she really able to claim such a thing? Relationships between people, friends or more, required effort on both sides, but her dynamic with Hisoka was characteristically one-sided from either perspective. She wanted to help him despite his resistance, despite knowing it was a long-shot. He wanted… well… domination of some kind. Victory. She couldn’t be sure what exactly he wanted from her, but Nacyri was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant, and was thus determined to avoid it at all costs. It was almost like they were locked in a game against each other, trying to win, except he was playing chess and she was playing poker. 

“Ah…” Gon nodded solemnly. “It must be hard on you.” 

She burst out laughing. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t,” she replied. “He’s a rather frustrating man.” This kid, honestly. He sounded so genuine and good-natured. Like a labrador, she had the urge to pat him. Which made Hisoka’s interest all the more sobering. “You know, Hisoka isn’t just dangerous. He has bad intentions regarding you,” she told him. 

“I know,” Gon admitted blithely. Nacyri disliked it but wasn’t surprised - a powerful kid like Gon was bound to have an invincibility complex that obscured the realities of danger. “He told me he’s keeping me alive until I’m worth killing.” 

“He said _what?_ ” her bloodlust flared. Oh, she was angry again. “He’s not joking,” Nacyri pressed. “You need to get away and _stay_ away.” 

Gon scratched the back of his head apologetically. Stubbornness radiated from his small, muscular body. “But I want to fight him,” he explained. “I need to be stronger.” 

Nacyri stared at his clear whiskey eyes. _“...eyes like that…”_ No, she’d been wrong before. Gon didn’t have an invincibility complex. True, children were often less receptive to the realities of mortality and he was no different, but there was a goal shining in those eyes. Something far ahead that he was chasing, something that turned Hisoka into just another obstacle to overcome. And it suddenly made sense to her, why Hisoka was so obsessed with this extraordinary kid whose eyes both venerated him and reduced him to a stepping stone. She sighed frustratedly, “Just… be careful, okay?” There wasn’t much else she could say. It was quite obvious she wouldn’t be able to persuade Gon to avoid Hisoka. 

In fact, she’d probably have better luck trying to convince Hisoka to give up on Gon. Which was a terrifying thought, really. 

She stepped back from the door. “Well, I might do something very unprofessional if I see Hisoka right now.” Nacyri said with forced calm. _Like punch him in the face._ “Could you tell him I stopped by and I want to talk to him?” 

Gon gave her a thumbs up. “Sure!” 

Nacyri left the strange boy and walked back to the elevator. The three fighters had left during her short conversation with Gon, so the air wasn’t as thick and unwelcoming. The ride down was silent, metal walls trapping the therapist alone with her thoughts. 

Hisoka… was not a good man. He was actively dangerous to the people around him. Of course, she’d known this from the moment they’d met, but something about Gon’s story… 

How Hisoka… to a 12 year old boy… 

According to The International Compendium of Clinically-Recognised Psychological Disorders, or ICCRPD, Antisocial Personality Disorder was characterised by a general disregard for right and wrong or the feelings of others, often (but not always) manifesting in criminal activity. Psychopathy and sociopathy were considered sub-categories of ASPD but, in the same way all labradors were dogs but all dogs were not labradors, it was wrong to assume that all people with ASPD were psychopaths or sociopaths. 

There was an old adage: psychopaths were born and sociopaths were made. Psychopaths often had a genetic predisposition towards lessened empathy and an inflated sense of entitlement. They were often charming, manipulative and methodical without conscience, and often saw others as mere objects. Sociopaths were less able to play along, and made it obvious they were only interested in themselves. They tended to come from poor, abusive backgrounds and were more emotionally erratic than psychopaths, with a weak but present conscience. Neither sociopaths or psychopaths could be ‘cured’ per se, but there was some evidence that sociopaths’ symptoms could lessen with time. Psychopaths, on the other hand… 

Truth be told, Nacyri wasn’t sure where to place him. If he was indeed a psychopath, she ought to pack her bags tonight. Take the chance that the chase would only excite him. Because psychopaths were characterised by a total lack of remorse and a high rate of re-offending. But she’d _felt_ Hisoka’s emotions, hadn’t she? Under all that murderous muck, that anger that seemed to spring from pain. Like the red inflammation around a wound, anger could be protective and healing so long as it was processed correctly. Unfortunately, his had been left to sour and infection had set in. 

_Ugh..._ Did it really matter how exactly she’d classify him, when he hadn’t shown any definitive interest in working to be better? Because self-improvement took work. Hard work. Breaking down yourself to your most fundamental building blocks and having to put yourself back together in a new, unfamiliar albeit healthy way… It was fucking hard and complicated and often _boring_. It took years, sometimes an entire lifetime of effort. And for somebody so impulsive and flighty, she wasn’t sure if he could commit to anything but his twisted ideals for that long. 

_I guess I have no choice but to try,_ she thought, the words like shackles. This wasn’t exactly a regular therapy case. She’d dealt with a couple of sociopaths and a psychopath once before, but he’d been imprisoned and unable to hurt her. Right now, Hisoka was not only free, he was under the protection of the damned Hunter Association, so the people around her, herself included, were potentially in danger as long as he was around. _Where do I even start?_ Panic set the tension already in her chest on fire. _How do I teach a man who kills so easily, who tramples others into the dust in a bid to rewrite his own past, empathy?_

The answer refused to come. 

Nacyri wandered through the streets, lost in her circling thoughts until she glanced up and realised that she was also just _lost._

“Shit,” she murmured, glancing around. She was in an unfamiliar street, well-lit but less populated. “Okay, orienting ourselves.” Nacyri took a deep breath, composed herself, and looked for Heaven’s Arena. The giant monolith had drifted behind her and too far to the left, so if she managed to cut through the streets in a diagonal, she should return to more familiar territory. The street she was on veered in the opposite direction, so following it might take her further away from the clinic, but there was an alley to her left that looked promising. 

The moment she stepped into the silent alley, it felt like the temperature dropped slightly. The street behind her, quieter though it was, was filled with life that was somehow absent from here. It was dirtier, too, bags of mouldering trash in black plastic bags and discarded fast-food containers strewn carelessly about. The sharp ammonia of cat urine assaulted her nose, but she ignored it. She followed the alley as it curved, the street disappearing from view, noting that Heaven’s Arena was now in the right position. If she continued roughly straight from here, she would be able to reach her car in roughly half an hour or so. 

She couldn’t wait. That bath was calling her name. 

“Well now, you’ve gone and made it unspeakably easy for me.” 

Nacyri jumped, whirling around to face the cool, polite voice. 

A bland-looking man with a trench coat tipped his bowler hat at her. A tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve. “My sincerest thanks.” 

“What do you want from me?” Nacyri asked. Clearly nothing good. There was something about him that made her uneasy. A lack of something that set off the alarm bells in her brain. 

“Oh, not much,” the man replied. “I’d appreciate it if you accompanied me on a short trip.” 

“Absolutely not,” Nacyri shook her head. “I make a habit of never going to a secondary location with shady strangers.” Well, she’d gone to the White Oleander with Hisoka, but… the circumstances were slightly different, right? Sure. 

“Sorry, love,” he shrugged. “I wasn’t asking.” 

She forced herself to stillness as he lunged for her, fighting all of her instincts to run. All she needed… Just one touch… It was easier if he was closer. 

Gloved hands reached for her throat and she moved, latching around her trachea at the same time her hands touched the stubble-rough skin of his jaw. Her aura sparked to life, Pacify rushing greedily down her arms and swallowing him in teal, hunting for emotions to devour that… 

Weren’t there. 

The man smiled lightly. “Oh? Interesting.” Entwined with his emotional landscape as she was, Nacyri felt the small flicker of curious pleasure, like a distant lightning flash, but otherwise the man was like a vast void. He was literally strangling her, yet there was no bloodlust because she was so dehumanised that her death meant literally nothing to him. He could make a coffee or squash a cockroach and feel the same empty calm. And Pacify couldn’t eat emotions that weren’t there. Panic flared through her body at the untimely revelation of her Nen’s most fatal flaw. 

Her brain was struggling for oxygen. Her throat was screaming in intense pain, but only the barest of gurgles managed to escape. She gathered her aura into her fist and swung at him. The blow might kill him, Nen-less as he was, but it was self defe-

His aura was released from Zetsu, protecting his body from her fist. 

_He has Nen…_ Nacyri thought. _Oh gods, he has Nen._

She lashed out at him with all her strength, but it was not enough. Simply having aura was not enough, she didn’t have the combat experience to do any damage. He took the blows, but his hands did not budge. In fact, they tightened until even gurgles could not escape. And Nacyri knew with certainty that she was going to die here, in an alley that smelled like cat pee, just a hundred metres from a street of oblivious passersby. 

_It… hurts…_

Her vision clouded, dimming about the edges. Her thoughts were no longer coherent, the oxygen-deprivation reducing her to an animal struggling and failing to survive. 

Her world narrowed on that chillingly pleasant, unassuming smile, until the black surged to eat that too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddd that's a wrap for Conflict of Interest. Thanks for coming on this journey with me, it was a wild ri-
> 
> Hehe, I'm trolling. I'm so sorry. I'll stop. 
> 
> Cheers to Somanoko for more cute doodles I just... get so damned happy every time.
> 
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> 
> 
> HD link:  
> https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1f605a77-997d-4ef4-99b3-3e515128d971/de8s2fx-6234ef48-8bc7-4c93-b24d-dc5effc8ea5d.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMWY2MDVhNzctOTk3ZC00ZWY0LTk5YjMtM2U1MTUxMjhkOTcxXC9kZThzMmZ4LTYyMzRlZjQ4LThiYzctNGM5My1iMjRkLWRjNWVmZmM4ZWE1ZC5wbmcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.ZbMPYgfZvS1thX_UA4LDasYNESLOs5027mqSi2rqY7I


	7. But You'll Still Take A Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Speak in tongues, I don't even recognise your face,  
>  Mirror on the wall, tell me all the ways to stay away...   
> _\- Black Out Days, Phantogram_**

The pressure disappeared around her throat. 

Her body collapsed, a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

There were… sounds? Maybe? 

Nacyri faded out. 

Warmth on her mouth. Pressure on her chest. Words flickering, like lights before the backup generator coughs to life. 

“Wake… Doc...” somebody muttered. “...I haven’t… permission to die.” 

Her lungs were going to burst. 

“Damn it...” The voice was clearer as her auditory processing systems came back online. She knew… Who...? “Why are people so much harder to keep alive?” 

Nacyri snapped awake. She surged upwards, coughing hard. 

There were hands on her body. She reacted like an animal, fists thudding against flesh and bone, but suddenly her wrists were wrenched together and above her head. 

“I had several ideas regarding how you might thank me for this,” a familiar voice drawled, “breaking my ulna was not one of them. I am, of course, open to negotiation.” 

And for some utterly inexplicable reason, that voice brought her back. A hand outstretched in the darkness, it pulled her back to reality. An even more familiar face coalesced in her vision, recognisable even by the faint glow of the cloudy evening. “H...” she tried to say his name but her voice gave out. Lightning pain branched outwards from her throat, causing her fists to clench. 

“Don’t try to speak,” Hisoka’s eyes followed his fingers as they ghosted the skin on her throat. She flinched. There was a slightly dangerous look in them. “It looks like your hyoid bone is fine but there might be some damage to your trachea cartilage, so I’ll take you to Heaven’s Arena for treatment.” 

She frowned at him slightly. “Ho...?”

He cocked his head, not understanding. “Hmm?” 

“...spit…” That wasn’t too bad. Basically just moving her lips. 

"In your mouth?" he teased. "Another time, maybe." 

Nacyri rolled her eyes and took a burning breath, psyching herself up for the next syllable, “...al...” _Ouch._ That last one made her feel like she had tried to swallow a cheese grater.

Realisation transformed his expression. “The public hospital?” Hisoka laughed. “Doc, we get the best medical treatment on the continent. Your injuries probably don’t _need_ the best treatment on the continent, but I don’t have the patience to babysit you in the waiting room.” 

She glared at him. “The…n... don-” her voice broke. 

“Then don’t?” Hisoka translated. His smile was wide - funny how such a wide smile couldn’t meet his eyes. “Try standing up on your own, then.” 

Nacyri had managed to prop herself up on her forearms when the waves of dizziness struck. 

An expectant hand caught her head before it hit the unforgiving cobblestones. 

“Stubborn girl. Are you ready to listen?” Weightlessness took over as strong arms lifted her by the armpits. “Wrap your legs around my waist and hug my neck with your arms,” he ordered. Hisoka’s face was close now. She could see smudges in the pale base of his makeup, and there was a slight disfigurement to his cheek that looked like the swelling of a bruise. 

That reminded her… Nacyri shifted to look behind him, for the man who had been strangling her, and-

“Don’t look,” he warned, but her eyes had already found it: a human-shaped lump, discarded like the rest of the trash strewn about. It was dark, so she couldn’t see very well, but the smudge of her attacker’s white shirt didn’t seem to be moving. 

Nacyri stared at that body for a long few seconds, soreness tickling her throat, unsure if she felt everything at once or nothing at all. Instead of trying to force her thoughts into something sensical, she closed her eyes and obeyed him. The scent of rust mixed with ammonia as she wrapped her weakened limbs around his strong, muscular body. His hands copied hers, supporting her lower back firmly so she wouldn’t fall. It was almost, just almost, like a hug. After what had just happened, it felt... nice… 

“I’m going to use my Nen to help us travel faster,” he explained. “Tap me on the shoulder if you start feeling too dizzy.”

Nacyri nodded, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Traces of sweet, spicy cologne mingled with the virile musk of sweat. Maybe it was the whole unconsciousness thing - she surely wasn’t all the way back from that particular abyss - but he smelled… admittedly compelling. Lectures flashed through her mind, about how pheromones, body odours, and immunological distinctiveness influenced attraction. _Damn it,_ she thought. Subtly inhaled again. _That explains a few things..._

She felt him gather himself, felt the power coil suddenly in his tensing muscles, and he leapt upwards. They left her stomach on the ground, thighs tightening around his waist reflexively. 

They landed on the top of the nearest building and he started running along the roof tiles, shifting her slightly to free up a hand. Her head started to spinning again, so she closed her eyes as they launched back into mid-air. His aura flexed and rippled around her, apparently fixing to a high point ahead, because they began tracing gravity-defying arcs through the air. 

Swinging through the veins of the city lent a somewhat unique perspective to Isbire. Cars streamed down main arterial roads like blood cells, ferrying people to and from bars and grocery stores and facilitating the money exchange that was the oxygen of their economy. It was different from looking down from behind the glass of a towering skyscraper, more intimate. With the wind in her hair, the lights in her eyes, the chorus of traffic assaulting her ears, it was as if Nacyri had her fingers on the pulse of the city. A slow, subtle heartbeat, almost distinguishable in the voice of the street artist just below them, but no... They passed by, and she lost it. She gave up, focusing instead on holding on and taking deep lungfuls of air. 

They managed to traverse in seven minutes a distance Nacyri had taken almost an hour to walk. Hisoka released his Bungee Gum a final time, landing lightly on the cobblestones despite her extra weight, and looked at her with a question in his eyes. Both hands found her waist, the touch cautious. “Can you walk?” he asked. 

_Ah._ She released her thighs, feeling the leftover ache from gripping him so tightly, and set her feet cautiously on the ground. He bent slightly to accommodate her shorter height. Her legs and head were steady, thankfully. She’d been worried that all the acrobatics might be problematic, but she was healing quickly thanks to her Nen. Satisfied, Nacyri loosened her arms from around his neck. “Yes,” she tested her voice. The answer was gritty and hoarse, but at least it wasn’t as sore as before. 

He was still bent over, still close. In the light flooding in from the Arena, she could better see the swelling along his cheekbone. Her hand came up slowly. Touched the foundation-tacky skin ever so gently. Hisoka stared at her with mysterious eyes, golden and full as the moon peeking through the veil of clouds above them. 

She ignored his gaze, stepping back slightly and looking him over. There was blood on his clothes. It didn’t seem to be his, but… “You’re... hurt?” she whispered. It was better to not strain her larynx, at least until she’d gotten some tests done. 

Hisoka smirked, “He was good, but not that good. A minor diversion, really.” 

He said that, but was he favouring his right leg a little? 

Perhaps he found her slightly unconvinced silence insulting, because he moved on rather abruptly. “Come on,” he gestured to the gigantic skyscraper he called his home, “I’ll take you to the medical infirmary.” 

He grabbed her hand. Given their appearances, she’d been initially worried about causing a scene - at this hour there were crowds of people clamouring about - but he led her past the main entrance towards a small side door. A showy-looking security guard was doing his absolute best to ignore the small group of people standing around the door. 

“Ah,” Hisoka quickly assessed the situation with the experienced eyes of a warrior, turning to Nacyri. “Take off your jacket and hide your face.” 

“Hmm?” she asked, wincing as her eyes went to the people huddled about. She needed to remember to whisper. They all looked young, some of them half her age. A few had signs, one of them wore a black and hot pink crop top not unlike the one Hisoka was currently wearing. She snorted softly, shrugging off her jacket. “Fangirls?” So, Hisoka actually _was_ something of a local celebrity, after all.

He smirked. “Of course I’m popular,” Hisoka dismissed, “I’m me.” 

She didn’t entirely buy it. For somebody with such a massive ego, she’d expected him to brag more about the situation, but he was being rather flippant. 

_Strange…_ Perhaps he only wanted acknowledgement from those he deemed worthy? 

He adjusted her jacket over her head, “Stay close to me but don’t touch me, and hide your face as much as possible. If they realise you’re pretty, they may try to murder you.” 

“It’s the night for it, apparently.” Her whisper didn’t quite manage to carry her dry sarcasm, but he laughed anyway. 

“Let’s go. I want to get that throat looked at.” 

As far as Nacyri could tell through her small window of vision, none of the fangirls knew Nen, but they apparently possessed some other unholy sense because, a few seconds after they resumed walking towards the side door, the girls turned in near-unison towards them. 

“HISOKA!” one of them screamed shrilly, fast echoed by the others. “It’s him!” 

They began sprinting towards them, and Nacyri wondered if this was how it felt to be chased by a pack of bearhounds. Teenagers were truly the most terrifying creatures of all. 

“Hisoka! Will you sign my tits?” 

“Get back, you whore, I was here first!” 

“Wait, who’s that bi-”

“Yeah, who’s that-” 

A hand was reaching towards her, ready to snatch away her jacket. 

She couldn’t see him properly, but dangerous intent suddenly streaked his aura black, and their voices ground to a halt. The hand retreated immediately, like it’d been burned. The girls fell utterly silent until they’d passed, still as a haza rabbit waiting for a panther to disappear into the underbrush. 

They had made the last few metres to the side entrance by the time the girls recovered from his bloodlust. 

“Wait, was that real blood?” 

“I’m not sure, but probably… Ugh, he’s so sexy but scary?” 

“I _know?_ That glare impregnated me.” 

Nacyri choked out a laugh that made her throat spasm, but she couldn’t help it. 

Hisoka ignored them, a faint smile was the only clue he’d heard. 

“Fuck, I wanted him to sign something but he’s leaving already. HISOKA! COME BACK! WHO’S THAT WOMAN?” 

The embarrassed security guard punched in the code for the side entrance and stepped aside for them. 

“Argh… I LOVE YOU, YOU CREEPY CLOWN MAN!” 

“YES, MURDER ME, DADDY!” 

Her shoulders were shaking uncontrollably by this point. 

“IS SHE YOUR GIRLFR-” 

The door shut behind them and Nacyri dissolved into painful, wheezing laughter. “‘Murder me... daddy’,” she gasped. “Do you think… if you sign my business cards… your fans will… go to therapy?” Her jacket slid to the floor. 

Hisoka picked it up, a rueful smile on his face. “Who could say?” he replied, replacing the jacket around her shoulders. “Also, I told you not to speak, but you keep ignoring me.” 

Nacyri smiled innocently.

He sighed, “Infirmary’s this way.” 

The doctors and nurses of Heaven’s Arena took her injury quite seriously, muttering something about ‘immediate or delayed carotid dissection’ as they whisked her away for a carotid imaging and various other scans. Hisoka’s initial assessment seemed to be accurate: there was some minor laryngeal and tracheal trauma, but her hyoid bone was fine. Surgery shouldn’t be necessary, but she was asked to stay overnight so they could monitor her progress. A nurse cornered her onto one of the medical cots. 

Other Arena fighters lay beside her in various states of injury. They had every right to be preoccupied with their own wounds but, instead, their wary eyes were glued to the man silently watching them fix an oxygen mask to her face. A nurse had attempted to drag Hisoka away for inspection, but he had ignored her. And because she was with him, their gazes inevitably slid to hers. Just how dangerous was Hisoka truly? she wondered, feeling prickles of curiousity, confusion, even some hostility. And what did it mean for him to be standing by her side? 

Hisoka leaned close, lips brushing her ear slightly. Maybe it was the chill of the infirmary aircon or the thin gown they’d forced her to change into, maybe it was his proximity or the fact she’d realised his scent was attractive to her, but goosebumps covered her entire body. “I told them about your Nen. They’ll do some more tests in a few hours and probably let you go early.” 

“Okay,” Nacyri said. Even now, her healing was readily apparent. Words didn’t feel like knives anymore. They still hurt, though. 

He stood up again, hand disappearing into his pocket before folding a single, golden key into her hand. “Use my room if you need to. 2032. I’m-” His glare cut off her attempt to protest. “I’ll be out tonight, so you’ll have it to yourself.” 

Nacyri stared at him. His face looked neutral, open, but it felt anything but. Yet, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t read him. Ever since he’d saved her, he’d felt… weird… off… Conflicted, perhaps? He hadn’t tried to take advantage of her once, had barely teased her. And she didn’t know what to do with that. She’d only just started to find her rhythm with the old Hisoka, after all. 

It was incredibly frustrating - she had so many things to ask, but she’d already received dirty looks from the doctors for trying to speak. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s why he was leaving, before she healed enough to prod at something vulnerable. He’d brought her to the circus intending for her to glimpse at his past and now he’d saved her. So why did he feel further away from her then he’d ever been? 

Nacyri forced herself to calm down. Even if they had to start over, she had the time. Even if she had to rebuild whatever trust they’d had from scratch, she could do it so long as he agreed to it. Earlier this evening, she’d felt like drowning but, looking at his face, the little voice inside her tossed her words like a life raft. Where did she start with this crazy, complicated man? 

_At the beginning, silly girl…_

Her adrenaline had long run out, and Nacyri was exhausted. So, she didn’t notice that, during her deliberation, Hisoka had also come to a decision. 

“Goodbye,” he said. 

Nacyri raised her free hand in farewell. She watched his figure, all pinks and reds, golds and blacks, disappear from the infirmary. Soon after, she fell asleep. 

The nurses woke her up for the second round of tests which, unsurprisingly, cleared her to leave. They offered to let her stay, but new fighters had arrived during her brief rest that looked like they needed the cot far more than she did. After promising to take tomorrow off if her voice didn’t completely recover, Nacyri was discharged. 

She changed back into her clothes, grimacing at the smell of sweat and alley. Her phone, safe in her purse, told her it was 11:37PM. Honestly, she was ready to go straight the fuck home, but there was the issue of Hisoka’s room key. She couldn’t be sure he had a spare. 

With a sigh, Nacyri found the familiar looking elevator. A few other people joined her, pressing various buttons. 100… 143… 176… All of them were bulky and strong-looking. All of them stared at her sceptically, the one who had pushed 200. Luckily, they ignored her.

The elevator slowly emptied out, the numbers climbing higher and higher until… _Ding._ Floor 200. Nacyri braced herself just in time for the waves of Nen to crash over her. 

It didn’t feel as bad as before, maybe because she was expecting it this time. She stepped out of the elevator, following the path that Gon had taken her. Actually, that reminded her... She’d forgotten because of the whole assault thing, but she owed Hisoka an earful the next time she saw him. 

2032 gleamed at her, greedily accepting the lock she placed inside it. She’d briefly wondered how his suite would look once she’d resolved to see him at the Arena, but actually entering had felt so far removed until now. It unlocked with a click, the door sliding open on noiseless hinges. 

Nacyri… didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. It looked like a hotel room, devoid of personality or any accoutrements from which she could glean some understanding. A single yellow lamp illuminated dark wood floors, burnt orange walls, and crimson-coloured chairs centred around a gilt-edged table. She stepped into the room cautiously, the door closing behind her. There was a tv to her left and a desk, the same rich wood as the floor, which she placed the room key onto. A dark red, king-sized bed lay to the right of what looked like a bathroom door. Spacious, neat, and clean. The only things of any particular interest were the large, ledged windows that stretched from hip-height to the ceiling: her soul was crying out at the wasted opportunity of such perfect reading nooks. 

There was a saying: that if you wished to understand a person, you should see where they sleep. It was quite natural for human beings to collect things as they went about their existence, and squirrel them away in places they frequented. For this room to be so bare… it was necessarily intentional. But that didn’t bother Nacyri too much. Just as she could learn from the objects people kept, the lack of objects held implication as well: _Utter self-containment... A man with few material attachments, ready to up and leave at any point... Little trust in the permanence or reliability of anything but himself..._ She stored these facts away inside herself for later. 

Further exploration revealed a bright yellow bathroom with black accents and checkered tiles. Again: clean and tidy to the point of being sterile. She used the toilet, washing her hands in the golden sink before taking a peek inside the drawers. _There we go,_ she thought. Makeup wipes, pale white foundation, tubes of brightly coloured pigment, an inkwell of waterproof eyeliner, and an array of brushes: the only evidence that the place was Hisoka’s. There was a decent looking cleanser and even a moisturiser she recognised and approved of. 

Nacyri closed the drawer gently, aware she was snooping. Which, obviously, wasn’t particularly polite, but neither was threatening to murder her colleagues. He could deal with it. 

She left the bathroom and retrieved her purse, pulling her phone out. She sat on the bed as she waited for a taxi service operator to pick up. The time was 12:03AM, or so the operator reminded her when she questioned the half-hour wait time. 

Ah well, it couldn’t be helped, since Nacyri had absolutely no intention of sleeping here. Or, at least, no _rational_ intention. Hisoka had informed her that she’d have the room to herself, which made his offer all the more tempting, but… She felt uncharacteristically delicate right now, and this room… smelled like him. She was so newly aware of that fact, of him, that she doubted she’d be able to sleep even if she tried. 

Taxi ordered, she now had a whole thirty minutes to kill (perhaps a poor word choice, given her location and the room’s current inhabitant). Nacyri set an alarm for twenty minutes and sank onto the bed with a sigh. It was firm, probably selected with fighters’ spines in mind, and actually really comfortable. Her fingers fiddled with the soft, striped bedspread, as she tried to resist the urge to pull back the cover and slip between the sheets. She was tired - not simply because she’d been attacked and her body was consuming energy to heal, but also because it was _way_ past her bedtime. 

Nacyri shifted on the bed, hesitantly resting her head gently on the one of the pillows. “I am _not_ going to get under the covers,” she told herself. Nacyri had long grown out of her partying days at university. She was a 33-year-old creature of habit and, these days, her habit was to be passed the hell out by now. If she got comfy between the sheets, it was over, taxi be damned. 

She stared at the ceiling, the quiet buzzing in her ears. She wondered if Hisoka used the pillow she occupied, or if it was the other one, or if he threw them both away and slept without. Then she realised the nature of her thoughts. Sat up. “This is crazy,” she muttered. “I’m crazy.” How the hell had she ended up in his room? Hadn’t her original goal been to get as far away from him as possible? Now, she was in his fucking room, wondering about his sleeping habits. 

It would be a lie to say that it wasn’t an uncomfortably fast progression of events. Either he’d been manipulating her the whole time, in which case she never had a chance, or he was being genuine. In which case... 

“Nope, I need to get out of here,” she told herself. She would endure the crowded lobby, if only to make absolute certain that she didn’t give in to the sweet call of sleep. Because, even if he didn’t come back, that was another boundary, another line crossed. And ethically-oriented therapists did not sleep in their clients’ beds. 

She pulled a notepad and pen from her purse, scribbling out a note for when Hisoka came back: _“Thanks for everything. Call me."_ It made her sound like a sexual conquest, but she didn't mind. If somebody, by chance, let themselves into the room before he returned, they'd glean nothing from it. His key was placed on top of the note. 

After making sure she hadn’t left anything, Nacyri folded the dirtied yellow of her jacket over her arm, thankful the rest of her outfit was stain-resistant black, and left the apartment. 

The elevator ride was uneventful, and so was the wait for the taxi. Her cab driver was an unimpressed, grizzled old man who looked and smelled like he’d been smoking a pack per day for the last hundred years. Nacyri was a little too tired to be in the mood for more than a polite greeting, which suited the man just fine, so the ride was characterised by a mutually complicit silence. He drove her back, she paid the fare, and that was that. Simple. Neat. 

Her car was exactly where she’d left it, which was always comforting. Nacyri unlocked her convertible, shoved her shit onto the passenger’s seat, and took a breath. Almost done. Almost home. 

Driving through the city late at night, when Nacyri could do it, was one of her favourite pastimes. 1AM was a little too early for things to have truly died down - no doubt, the pleasure districts were still raging - but she enjoyed the journey now it wasn't choked with traffic. The lights were softer, somehow. They leaned in through her window to kiss her cheeks as she passed them. 

Halfway home, she made an executive decision to call in sick tomorrow. Nacyri loved work, truly, but every day was a bit of a gamble. The high of a good, productive day would likely help put the nightmare of blacking out beneath the grip of a stranger behind her, but… On its worst days being a therapist was emotionally draining, and she didn’t have the courage to take that chance on three hours of sleep. 

She sent a message to Sari the moment she pulled up, dragged herself to the elevator, tapping the railing impatiently. Her apartment welcomed her like a hug. And suddenly, Nacyri felt safe. Truly safe. 

Her shower was good and hot. Her bed was cozy and soft. No hidden angst, no weird desires, she could relax into the memory foam without reservation.

And, so, she did. Fell into the arms of unconsciousness for the fourth time today.

Except, this time, there was something waiting for her on the other side... 

_She dreamt she stood in an alleyway... No, not just any alley, but_ that _alleyway. The sounds of the city permeated the air, and police sirens wailed faintly in the distance - a typical Tuesday night, really._

_She crouched. Caught a glimpse of familiar pumps in her periphery vision-_

_Wait, what? Those pumps didn't belong to her._

_"How interesting." Come to think of it, that voice didn't belong to her, either._

_Above her, the moon had lifted the veil of clouds from its face to better see the scene before her._

_Rubbish everywhere and bloodstains - those were exactly where they'd left them._

_But there was something missing. Something important. Just like in his suite, the absence of the thing said more than its presence._

_Nacyri stared at the spot where her attacker had laid, unmoving in the shadows and felt a touch of foreboding creep up her spine._

_The body was missing._

_"You're not where you're supposed to be," Hisoka's voice murmured into the still night air. "So, where did you go?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm three hours late to a party because of this, lol. Unsure about how this chapter ends but ehhhh...


	8. Curiousity Your Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
> And all the days in between  
>  You're still my drug of choice  
> The figure of my dreams...  
>  _\- Two More Minutes, Jaymes Young_**  
> 

_It’d go something a little like this: Dinner and just enough alcohol to loosen up her tongue, loosen up her control, so that when she peered back over her shoulder at him, it’d give form to the thoughts that he sometimes saw flitting behind her eyes. “I… Do you want a drink before you go? Coffee? Tea?”_

_He’d laugh softly, murmuring an affirmative, eyes glittering in the night._

_One domino after the other, falling to the ground the way her dress would after they made it up the tension-thick elevator ride and through her apartment door._

_And she’d stand there, bold beneath his bolder gaze, reading him the way she sometimes did - like he was black on crisp white paper, like the symbols on his painted face were typographical, not pictorial, in nature. Her comprehension wasn’t always perfect - she tried too hard to reduce him to some intolerably dry diagnosis from a book written by intellectual old fools - and yet… and yet…_

_And yet, if she knew the thoughts running through his mind, she’d be running for the hills. He wanted to bite down on that perfect, unscarred flesh. Make her cry and writhe and moan… Ah, then again, maybe she did know._

_There was this look, sometimes... A split-second before she regained the reins, wresting control of herself once more. He loved that split-second, wanted to tape it and replay it over and over again. It reminded him of the face Chrollo made when somebody did something unexpected. When_ he _did something unexpected. Or when Illumi, desensitised as he was to pain and pleasure alike, shivered unintentionally beneath the drag of his nails... Hmm, maybe he had a thing for dark eyes… Or control freaks…_

 _Hisoka grinned. In the moonlight streaming through the window, her hair looked like it was spun from starlight. It was too soon. Far too soon. He liked to make a game out of taking from the unwilling, but she was different. Her fascinating Hatsu ability forced him to abandon his usual methods, made anything but willing capitulation a damned near admission of defeat... But... what if he just... fisted it? Forced her to bare that slender, graceful neck, the delicate pulse beating beneath her warm olive skin. She’d wake up, fear quickly turning into that baleful gaze… His lust flared through the room._ Oops, _Hisoka thought, suppressing it a touch too late. The woman on the bed shifted, and-_

Nacyri opened her eyes. The gloom of her bedroom was comforting and familiar, and… empty. She frowned. Strange, she’d almost expected his silhouette to be sprawled across her window sill. In fact, the pounding pulse of her heart insisted that was where he should be. But why…? 

The dream caught up to her, and her moment of partial confusion evolved into something more complete. “Strange,” she repeated out loud. The last time she’d had a dream like this, as if she’d been somehow… in Hisoka’s head… was the night of her attack. She’d held some lingering suspicions about it: in a world of bizarrities, in a world that had _Nen,_ Nacyri hadn’t wanted to rule out the possibility of it being a genuine glimpse into his mind. But if it had been, then he wouldn’t be so conspicuously absent from her room… 

Her ringtone split the silence. Nacyri glared at it, was tempted to let it go unanswered, but there was something weighty to its tone. She relented with a sigh, bringing her phone to her ear. “Hello?” 

“Doc.” 

Speak of the devil… “Hisoka,” she said. Was it coincidence? “Why are you calling at…” she glanced at the pale numbers of her alarm clock, “3AM in the morning?” It was 2:53AM, to be precise.

“You said to call.” His voice was close and warm in her ears. 

“Yeah, at a reasonable hour, like a reasonable person. What do you want?” 

“I missed your acerbic little comments,” he chuckled. “I’m outside your apartment building. I am in need of a shower and a temporary safe space… I may have caused a little bit of trouble.” 

She didn’t bother trying to figure out how he found where she lived. All that mattered was that he knew, and he was here now. She squashed down the useless fear that fluttered in her belly. “With who?” 

“Hmmm, the mafia.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hisoka.” Exasperation - that was definitely better than fear. Nacyri forced deep breaths, thinking it through. Did she let him up or not? Her first inclination was a resounding _no,_ but she was a little worried. Hisoka didn’t seem like the type to ask for help unless he actually needed it… 

“It’s just for a few hours,” Hisoka continued, apparently wary of her silence. “It would be problematic for them to find me right now.” 

Nacyri sighed. It was only two hour’s sleep lost. Her alarm was at five. “I’m number 11,” she said finally. “You’d better not make me regret this.”

“Cross my heart.” The mischief in his tone didn’t reassure her at all. “I’ll be up in a second.”

“Mmmm...” Nacyri sat up, holding the sheets loosely to her bare chest. She needed to put clothes on before that pervert got here. “Do you want anything? I’m making espresso.” 

There was a sound of tripping latches and creaking hinges, and suddenly his voice was an entirely different type of close. “An espresso, hmm?” 

“Fuck!” she shrieked reflexively, dropping her phone in favour of tightening her grip on the sheets. _No, no, no…_ Nacyri had always adored her double casement windows - they’d been one of the selling points of this apartment - but she cursed them as Hisoka poured into her bedroom. He always moved fluidly: like he’d been created by the concepts of water. Adaptable, able to twist into any shape for any situation yet, at his core, the same. Malleable, but unchangeable. And dangerous. And- 

_Enjoying every fucking second of this,_ Nacyri reminded herself, forcibly calming her knee-jerk panic. He liked catching her off-guard. _Calm down_... In a smoother, more controlled tone: “Hisoka, this is the fifth storey. Use the elevator next time. And the door, for that matter.” 

“Elevators are boring,” he told her. 

“You would say that.” Nacyri wondered if he’d noticed. That, at home, she slept naked. Of course he had. By now, he’d noticed everything in the room. 

“I also said I’d be up in a second… Nice place, by the way,” he added casually. 

Her face scrunched. “I’m definitely already regretting this.” 

She pulled her bedsheet loose, wrapping it around her as she stood. Bungee Gum latched onto it, tugging playfully. “Don’t you dare,” she warned him. “These sheets are spidereagle silk.” 

“How bougie of you.” She half-expected him to give his Bungee Gum another tug, but instead he released it with a snap.

She snorted, “I never thought I’d hear you say ‘bougie’.” 

“ _Bougie_ ,” he sang. 

Damn it. How did he manage to make her laugh, right now? Well, she’d roll with the punches, as long as he didn’t try anything else, simply because she couldn’t think of a surefire way to get him out of her apartment now that she’d willingly invited him in. Like an idiot. She wouldn’t bother asking him to leave - it was obvious how _that’d_ go. “So, do you want an espresso?” 

“You know what I want.” His voice was even softer in the velvety dark. 

She dispelled his suggestion with the flick of the light switch. “I have a rough idea, but you’ll settle for coffee.” 

The two blinked slightly in the sudden, painful glare. 

He looked more dishevelled than usual. His top was torn slightly and there was an ominous dark red stain on his pants, as though somebody had begged on their knees for mercy that never came. 

Nacyri gripped her door frame as she got a proper look at him. “Is that blood… yours?” 

Hisoka looked down at his clothes. “No,” he admitted. 

Nacyri tried to swallow, but all her saliva seemed to have dried up. “And you’re tracking it into my apartment?” she joked weakly. It was just a front. She was angry. A little at him, a little at herself for screaming earlier, for forgetting how very… Hisoka… Hisoka was. 

“It’s mostly dry,” he assured. “Bad people only, I promise,” Hisoka said. “Well, probably.” 

She bit her lip to keep that anger from spilling out unfiltered. There was a glint in his eyes that said he was probably teasing her, but still… "Has anybody told you that you can be despicable?" 

"Mmm, it's my favourite compliment." He stalked towards her, “So...?” 

“So what…?” she asked, suddenly swallowed by his height. Up close and personal, she could smell him. The scent of sweet-spiced sweat, heavy from exertion, discoloured by the faint rust of drying blood. She wrinkled her nose. 

“Shower.” The way he said it made it almost an invitation. Or an order. 

She turned her head, broke gaze, a polite decline dressed in the excuse of pointing out the way. “Through the door, turn right. Second door on the left is the bathroom. There should be fresh towels in the cupboard. If you use all my body wash, I may commit a crime. That shit’s expensive.” 

“Duly noted,” he smirked. 

“Do you need a change of clothes?” she asked. 

A thin eyebrow arched, “Don’t take me for ungrateful, Doc, but I doubt I’ll fit anything of yours.” 

Nacyri shrugged, eyeing those broad shoulders of his, “I’ll find something.” Granted, Hisoka was a big man, but she had a couple of pieces that might fit: oversized sweaters, shirts and pants left by past lovers, the black satin dressing gown her father had forgotten on his last, rare visit. It came as a matching pair, a hers and his, his strange substitution for a healthy father-daughter bond. She suddenly wanted to see it on Hiso... No, no, tuck _that_ thought away in the inappropriate box. As if this whole situation wasn’t inappropriate, let alone their relationship. 

She waved him away and, surprisingly, he obeyed her. “Second door on the left,” he repeated with that stupid, amused smirk. “I’ll make sure to take long enough for you to dress comfortably.” 

Nacyri glared in response. She always felt a little naked before his gaze - being actually naked, barring a thin wrap of silk, was on another level entirely. 

Hisoka sighed adoringly, “You’re so fun to tease.” He disappeared into the hall. 

Nacyri took a big, deep breath of the oxygen that had returned with his absence. “Fuck,” she said softly, running her hand over her face. 

One moment, two, three… Once she’d regained some sense of stability, she opened the door to her and walked inside. In truth, she didn’t have enough clothes to really need a walk-in wardrobe, but it was neat, tidy, accessible, and also _private._

There was a set of drawers for more casual house-wear. Craving oversized comfort, her fingers found soft black cotton. She smiled at the shirt. Mitsuki had bought it for her when she’d finally become qualified. It was a cheap thing, so big that it tended to slip over one shoulder, the words “Trust Me, I’m A Therapist” emblazoned across the front in pastel yellow, pink, and aqua. Nacyri slipped it on, fishing about for some casual black drawstring shorts. 

Good. Now she wasn’t naked, she could afford to think. It’d been bothering her since she woke - that dream she’d had. Or, specifically, dreams. Was it really a likely coincidence that she’d dreamt of Hisoka in her bedroom, only to wake up and have him outside her apartment? She didn’t think so. It was possible that she’d subconsciously sensed his approach and thus dreamt about him, but that explanation wasn’t satisfying. Then, did that mean he’d actually been watching her sleep? Her hands stopped. What if he’d done it before? The way he’d so easily tripped her latch… 

Her heart beat faster. He’d slipped up. Unknowingly, Hisoka had made a mistake. Calling her immediately, coming in through the window, it was all too suspicious. If he’d waited longer, or used the elevator, she might have doubted herself, but… That answered another question she had. If Hisoka was aware of the fact she’d really been given a front-row seat to an all-access, intimate screening of his thoughts, he wouldn’t have asked to come up. A man so guarded and avoidant, so intent on keeping everybody out, would withdraw and re-evaluate the situation. Maybe even cut ties permanently. She wasn’t a betting woman, but she was quite sure of this. 

Which meant… Nacyri couldn’t stop the smile forming on her face. It wasn’t entirely pleasant. 

It meant things had changed. She’d gained a new card and, _finally,_ she might have something resembling an upper hand. 

In the end, she settled on the robe. She couldn’t find pants to go with the stray tops she had and, though Hisoka would likely be fine rocking a skirt, Nacyri couldn’t find one she’d be okay with never seeing again. Whereas he could shred her father’s robe to pieces and she wouldn’t suffer any particular loss, so she figured he could use it while she put his clothes through the washing machine. 

She hung the thing by coat hanger on the outside of the door and let him know. A cheery ‘okayyyy’, sluiced by the warm rain of her shower, followed her into the kitchen. She wasn’t gonna stand there while he finished. Not when caffeine was calling her name. 

Nacyri shovelled coffee grinds into her moka pot and slid it onto the stove before finding her way to the pantry. He had a sweet tooth, right? She grabbed a jar of oats, salt, allspice, peanut butter, and pitted dates, alongside milk from the fridge. A handful of chopped dates, a cup of oats, a cup of boiling water to a cup of milk, bring to a boil and then switch to low heat - the recipe was instinctive by now. 

Her mother had loved porridge, had spent her morning mixing in different spices and flavours. Pumpkin, spiced apple, maple: a porridge recipe for her every mood. Nacyri had added the peanut butter because she figured he’d appreciate some protein, but it also complemented the creaminess of the milk frothing in her saucepan. A pinch of salt, a puff of allspice, taste, repeat. She set the spoon down with satisfaction. Good. 

“What are you making?” She jumped. His voice was so close that, had his hands not steadied her waist, she would have smacked her forehead straight into the rangehood. 

_Murder bad, Nacyri,_ she thought, irritated. _Inhale... Exhale..._ “Porridge,” she said, prying away those insistent fingers. The moka pot was steaming, loud and shrill. “And coffee.” 

Hisoka reached around her, the soft black silk of the robe gliding along her skin. Smooth, light and expensive, perfect for Isbirien summers. She had her own robe buried in her drawers. Maybe she _should_ wear it more often. 

He picked up the spoon, oddly delicate, stirring once before gingerly scooping a small amount of porridge towards his mouth. When he hummed, she felt the vibrations spread from where his chest pressed against her back. “It’s good,” he said, as if it were unexpected. 

Nacyri scowled, turning to snatch back the spoon. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

He shrugged, as if that somehow answered the question, before gesturing pointedly back at the stove. “The coffee will burn if you leave it too much longer.” 

“I _know_ that,” she huffed, snatching the handle of the whistling thing and pouring it into two waiting mugs. “Do you take milk? Honey? I don’t use sugar, but I can check if there’s some in the pantry?” 

“Milk and honey is fine,” he replied. 

Nacyri nodded. Elbowed him gently. It was like elbowing rock. “Good, gimme some space. And can you stir? I don’t want the oats to stick.” 

He inched back, far enough so that she could slide out but still so close that she couldn’t physically avoid brushing against his body. She escaped from that uninvited embrace, his posture poised between amused and bemused as he stirred the pot on the stove. Was it natural grace, or posed attractiveness? Now she was far enough away, she could appreciate him. Yes, it was better to appreciate Hisoka Morow from a distance. Safer. He looked more picturesque than lethal, like the cover of a magazine: the casual lean, her father’s robe draped loosely about his chest, head tilted, mouth relaxed from his too-wide smiles, eyes thoughtful as his hand moved in thoughtless, circular motions. Both winsome and seductive, all that danger hidden in the mise-en-scène: like an oh-so-perfectly obedient housewife, with bruises on her knees, sherry on her tongue, and arsenic in the cookies baking in the oven. 

A thin red eyebrow arched, and Nacyri realised too late that she’d lingered just a little too long. She’d been staring. An awkward cough, a diverted gaze, she retrieved the milk, the honey, spooning the latter into their respective mugs before topping them up with the former. She focused hard on their coffee, the ratio of sweet to bitter to creamy suddenly deathly important. She took a sip, then another, then there was nothing left here to distract her from his contented, somewhat unnerving silence. 

“Should be done,” Nacyri murmured, gesturing for him to move aside. 

Again, he moved, almost performatively gracious. Perhaps they’d both realised, at the same time, that it unsettled her more when he was obedient. 

She spooned the oats into their respective bowls, both light grey-green in colour. A trip to the National Museum of Aratula with her parents had facilitated her long-standing obsession with celadon pottery, the evidence of which decorated her apartment. Hisoka took his bowl, holding it up to examine it. Fine gold traced where it had shattered (courtesy of Sari, bless that clumsy child) and been repaired with kintsugi. She’d learned about the technique during her stay in Jappon, had taken to it immediately. It surprised nobody - she’d always had an obsession with restoring broken things. 

Nacyri let him look to his heart’s damned content, angling for her couch, mug and bowl in hand. There wasn’t much to be gleaned from her hobbies that he wouldn’t already know about her, and any second his gaze wasn’t fixed on her was a second she could breathe a little easier. 

It occurred to her, as she sat down, that she had no idea how to fill in the next few hours with him. She’d let him into her _apartment,_ of all things. Sure, she could kick him out, but he’d been (relatively) a gentleman, so asking him to leave would only prove damaging. Which meant stewing uncomfortably in the silence until she could think of a better idea. What did this man do in his idle time? She was almost scared to ask. 

Hisoka followed suit, lounging artfully a respectable distance from her on the soft grey suede, a green-blue pillow tucked behind his back. The darkness of the parted robe, the gentle cross of pale legs, the soft celadon pillow and matching ceramics - it contrasted rather beautifully with the bright strawberry of his hair, still styled in upward sweeping waves, though the Bungee Gum inspired tear and star were a touch out of place.

 _Ah, I’ve been staring again,_ she thought, clearing her throat. “Oh, if you give me your clothes, I can put them through the wash for you.” 

“Let’s eat, first,” he told her, waving his gold-coloured spoon about. “Or it’ll cool.” 

_Touché,_ Nacyri thought, taking a sip from her mug. She could microwave the porridge, but she’d die before doing the same to her coffee. 

The porridge was good and just sweet enough, the salt rounding out the nuttiness of the peanut butter and pop of spice. Delicious. She contented herself with the comfort of having something to do, to eat and drink, but a mere bowl of porridge and mug of coffee could only be stretched so far. Putting on the wash load might take an extra few minutes, but then what? She dreaded that oncoming silence, the awkwardness. Usually, their banter flowed freely, but conversation was a two-person effort and, right now, he seemed to relish watching her squirm. 

“You look uncomfortable,” he noted. 

Nacyri huffed out a laugh. _Thanks, I hadn’t noticed._ “Your visit was... unexpected.” _To put it politely._ “Is there anything you’d like to… do?” She peered at the blank screen of her tv. That was its usual state - she really wasn’t one for watching tv programs. 

He followed her gaze. “We could watch that little video of yours,” he suggested. “I’ve been positively _dying_ to see it.” He watched her carefully, like he was testing the waters. 

“Huh?” It took her a few seconds to realise which video he meant. _Oh._ Her cheeks burned. “Not a chance.” She’d almost forgotten the cursed thing. 

“But you promised,” he reminded her. “And I’ve been rather good, don’t you think?” He rested his chin in his palm, eyes glittering at her. 

“No.” 

“But-”

“As I recall,” Nacyri rebutted coolly, “You promised you’d actually make an effort at therapy, which you haven’t.” 

“I took you to the circus,” he said, stealing a bite of porridge. 

“And then you left me there,” she growled. “After sexually harassing me. _Again._ As much as I appreciate the effort you put into experiential variety, if you want to conduct therapy we need to actually talk.”

He smiled at that. Took another bite of porridge. “Ah, but Doc, I’m just not much of a _talker_. I much prefer my communication to be… non-verbal.” He peeked at her from beneath his lashes. 

She ignored the innuendo. “Well, you can sign it to me if you really want but, until we've made more substantial progress, I’m not giving you that video.” 

“What’s to stop me from lying to get what I want?” 

Nacyri raised an eyebrow, “You’re doing an _excellent_ job of convincing me to give it to you.”

Hisoka laughed. “And you won’t reconsider letting me see you process your Hatsu in person?” 

“Absolutely no chance in hell.” She was firm on that. She couldn’t deny that Hisoka was charming, that he was shockingly likeable, even, but that didn’t mean she trusted him. Not when she was restrained and so very vulnerable. 

He shrugged casually. “It was worth an attempt.” Despite her rejection, he looked vaguely satisfied. 

For a few minutes, they contented themselves with eating. Nacyri liked to savour her food - a partial consequence of growing up in a place that rarely changed, where food was a main source of interest. Hisoka, on the other hand, ate quickly and cleanly. He finished before she was even halfway through her portion, spoon scraping lightly at the sides for anything left over. She’d noticed it first at the Oleander, then at the carnival grounds. It looked unconscious - the kind of habit she’d expect from somebody who had been incredibly hungry, who'd had to extract every meagre bit of sustenance from the little food they had. 

When he set it down, the bowl almost looked clean. The cracks gleamed gold and beautiful in the light. 

_I just…_ Was it so wrong that she wanted to help him? 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said finally. “You should learn how to defend yourself. I won’t always be around to play hero.”

“Already on it,” Nacyri set aside her own bowl, and reached for her mug. “My first class is this afternoon.” 

He looked surprised. “You didn’t think to ask me for help?” he asked. 

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip. “Would you have?” 

He tilted his head. “Probably not,” he admitted, grin a touch lascivious. “More for your sake than mine. I tend to get a little… excited… in the heat of the moment.” 

Exactly. She’d _very_ briefly entertained the idea of asking him, but had dismissed that quickly. She’d felt his cravings - the path to indulging them had almost negligible resistance, frictionless and smooth to the point where the mere decision to give in was almost the point of no return. Like an alcoholic sitting down for ‘just one drink’ that turns into a blacked-out night and pounding headache hangover, Hisoka was addicted to violence. Even a small taste was dangerous, like blooding the prey before setting the dogs on it. Yes, she had her Nen but, honestly, if she never had to experience Hisoka’s bloodlust again, it would be too soon. The first time was enough of a shock to the system. 

“Does that scare you?” he asked. She realised she’d gone quiet again, withdrawn into her head. And while she had, he’d moved closer. 

Nacyri licked her lips, trying to decide how much to elaborate. “Yes and no,” she said finally. “It’s like any addiction. The mechanisms are inherently similar, your desires are just more extreme than others-”

Nails snatched a lock of white hair, brought it to his mouth. Her voice stuttered slightly as he kissed the soft strands of her hair. She cleared her throat, glaring pointedly, and resumed. 

“You’ve spent years giving into them, desensitising yourself to the moral consequences, to empathy, as you pursued bigger and stronger prey. So, it’ll be harder for you, especially since they formed as a means of coping with the trauma you experienced. Even if you decided to change today, it’d still probably take years of work, and...” 

She trailed off at his gaze: eyes hard to interpret, like traffic lights stuck on yellow. “You know, this is as good a couch as any,” he tugged at her hair lightly, the pull almost tickling her scalp. 

Nacyri frowned. "You're not serious?" 

"Deadly." He released her hair, carefully brushing it over her shoulder. Her neck and ear tingled where he 'accidentally' brushed against it. “Let’s fu-” 

She smacked his hand away. For fuck’s sake. Would he ever stop _running?_ What would it take for him to open up for even a moment? “Deflecting with sex again? I thought you pride yourself on being unpredictable.” 

He smiled - or was it a clenching of the jaw? “I was bored with the conversation.” 

“Bored, or uncomfortable?” Nacyri challenged. “Was I getting a little too close for comfort?” She grabbed his cheeks, trapping his face between her hands. They were close enough to kiss. “Welcome to the mortifying ordeal of being known, Mr Morow.” 

“Sometimes, I really dislike you,” he said. The fingers that wrapped around her wrists were gentle and unresisting. 

Nacyri smiled softly, smearing the foundation on his cheek with her thumb. Just a hint of pale skin showed beneath. “Oh, same here.” 

His eyes burned like molten gold at that. 

She sighed, removing her hands. “I need to put your clothes in the wash. There’s a short cycle that only takes half an hour, so we can put it through the dryer before you leave.” 

“I can do it,” he said abruptly, standing from the couch. The tension dissipated as if it'd never existed. 

“No, I can-” 

“I know how to use a washing machine, Doc,” Hisoka looked amused.

She blinked. “Oh. I suppose?” 

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he repeated, mocking her from earlier. 

She rolled her eyes, “Whatever.” 

He sauntered down the corridor, as if it were his apartment instead of hers. “Finish your breakfast, Doc.” 

So, she did. 

She was washing up in the sink when Hisoka returned. She looked up to find him with a glittering black blazer draped over his arm. “I took the liberty of reclaiming my jacket,” he told her. 

“Ah, I’d almost forgotten about it,” Nacyri said, reaching for the last mug. “I’m glad you remembered.” 

Hisoka hummed. “I might sleep for a few hours. Or, at least, until you leave for work.” 

So that was why his coffee had lay untouched. He must be truly tired.

“I see. Of course,” she said. “I have a guest room…” 

“The couch is fine,” he said. “Besides, I’m assuming you’d rather keep an eye on me.” 

“Not particularly. I have some emails I should reply to.” Him asking to sleep was a path of escape she fully intended on taking. She could always leave her study door open, half-alert for any suspicious sounds. 

“Well, _I’d_ rather you keep an eye on me.” Hisoka smirked, stretching his body. The muscles she could see moved beneath his skin, the motion sinuous and fluid. “So feel free to peek.” 

“Hmph.” She crossed to the wall, adjusting the lights so they were dimmer. “If you want anything, I’ll be in my study.” She turned to leave. 

“I have a fight coming up,” he said from the couch. “Will you come watch?” 

Nacyri paused. It felt like a question he'd been biting back this whole time. “Hisoka, you know I-” 

“I bought the tickets.” 

She sighed reluctantly. She wanted to say no again, but... She’d been saying no a lot tonight. She had to give him a little, just enough to sate him, before he demanded more. “Fine,” she promised. “I’ll come.” 

She escaped to the study. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and all that! 
> 
> Thank you to thatonepeach for betaing (by beta, I mean listening to me complain about things at odd hours of the morning)! <3
> 
> Also, feel free to add me on Discord, yeet. thecowscamehome#2356 (it me). 
> 
> Anyway, stay safe! Enjoy your holidays! See you next chapter!!!!!!
> 
> PS: I feel lowkey like some people are mad they haven't fxcked yet. I did say it was a slow burn, lmao. Patience.


	9. So You'll Never Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Excuse me while I run,  
>  I really gotta get out of here,  
> Reach out for anyone,  
> And they will tell you get out of here...  
>  _\- Excuse Me, Nothing But Thieves_**   
> 

Nacyri set down her towel and looked out over the brightly lit dojo, already feeling the forming bruises. The next class had begun while she’d showered, and figures in white grappled with each other, each seeking an opening, an imbalance to exploit. 

She’d started researching martial art forms the day after her attack. Originally, she’d just considered learning a few basic self-defense moves and calling it a day, but she’d quickly realised that such moves would be easy to counter by most seasoned fighters. Since Nen-users and skilled fighters were the people who’d actually be able to give her trouble (assuming, for whatever reason, she wasn’t able to use her Hatsu), she couldn’t half-ass it. Thus, Nacyri had resigned herself to spending a few hours per week practising judo. The philosophy behind judo caught her attention quickly: emphasising adaptability, flexibility, and using an opponent’s force against them. She also liked that it centred mostly around self-defense and immobilisation. At least, as far as Nacyri could tell... She was not, by any means, an authority on the subject.

It’d been a good session. After the warm up, they’d focused on dynamic movements like cartwheels, roundoffs, shrimping (exercises to build up the muscles needed for escaping holds), and how best to minimise the damage from a fall. Then they’d carefully copied the sensei as he demonstrated some throw drills, before separating the complete novices out to do pushups, situps, and the like while more experienced judokas sparred. This had repeated for ground work - demonstration, drilling, and randori (again, calisthenics for novices). 

The cooldown had come as a blessing - she wasn’t exactly _unfit,_ but she hadn’t worked out hard and continuously like that for a few years now. It felt… Good. Great, even. She might have some bruises and sore muscles tomorrow, but even one class had given back just a touch of the confidence she’d so obliviously held before it had been literally strangled from her. 

The grin on her face was full of determination. She’d always found it easiest to cope when there was a pathway to follow. Fingers rummaged for her phone, zipping up her gym bag as Nacyri exited the dojo. The night was thick and humid, with close, cloistering clouds huddling about the city. Her dial tone rang softly, clicking as it connected. 

“Make way for the new black belt in town.” Even when teasing, Mitsuki’s voice was as smooth as a vanilla latte. “How was it?” 

“Good,” Nacyri replied. Her satisfaction bubbled from her chest. “Actually, really good. The sensei is really patient and makes the drills simple to follow.” 

“We _are_ fond of competent instructors.” 

“Mmm... With him whipping me into shape, I’ll be taking on the Arena in no time,” the psychologist joked. 

“Wonderful. I’ll know in advance who to put my money on,” they said. “Your opponent.” 

Nacyri snorted. “Hush, you.” 

“You know,” Mitsi began, “I still don’t see why you feel you suddenly need to learn a martial art. Doesn’t your Nen render it something of a moot point?” 

Nacyri fiddled absently at her collar. Usually, their equally packed schedules were a source of exasperated amusement, if not outright frustration, but over the last five days Nacyri had been kind of relieved. The bruises that laced her skin were faded, now, easily covered by a high collar or well-applied concealer, but still… her friend had always possessed an alarmingly acute ability to sense when something was amiss. 

“You never know,” Nacyri smiled into the phone, “what if I’m attacked while I’m in processing mode?” The flaw in her Nen’s defense had naturally forced her to think of other potential weaknesses. 

“At the hospital?” Dr Mitsuki Gratz sounded dubious. “We hire security guards for a reason.” 

Nacyri kept her voice just light enough, just reasonable enough, but her hand clenched around the fabric of her shirt. “What if I’m not at the hospital? I’d rather be prepared and not need something then find myself unprotected at a crucial moment. And I especially don’t want to have to rely on somebody else to save me.” _And thus endanger them…_ Her biggest issue was that, when constructing Pacify, Nacyri hadn’t thought of how it might be used and countered in a combative situation. Her priority had always been her patients. “Besides, it’s good exercise.” 

Mitsi made a barely convinced sound. She could almost see their eyes rolling. “It just seems like a lot of effort and commitment for a very unlikely situation. This isn’t an action movie.” 

_The irony,_ Nacyri thought. She could think of a few recent events that would not be out of place in the genre. “Anyway, I'm starting with weekly classes, then adding more as I adjust.” 

Mitsi sighed dramatically, “Yet another thing standing in the way of our love. Fine, spend even more of your time on things other than me.” 

“Aw, but you know you’re the only one for me.” Nacyri unlocked her car, smile turning faintly bitter. Her hand paused on the handle, lungs inhaling so deeply it hurt. The pair referenced it, even made jokes about it, but they actually had been in love with each other. The problem, unfortunately, was that they hadn’t loved each other _at the same time._

“Ha! Remember that time you were in a polyamorous relationship for like seven months?” Mitsuki asked dryly. “And used it to hide your attachment issues and your struggle to commit to one person?” 

“Are you calling me a _liar?_ ” 

“When it suits you, yes.” 

“Excuse me, _I’m_ the therapist.” Nacyri opened the door, shoving her bag into the passenger seat before shutting it again. “Besides, that was a decade ago. I was twenty-two and angsty.” 

Her first year of college, Nacyri had been rather disillusioned by the absurdly short amount of time it took for her father to move on from her mother’s death. He’d packed his bags within a year and followed the woman Nacyri now called step-mother to the Mimbo Republic, too love-struck to spare his daughter a thought beyond a “Honey, why don’t you try the universities over here? We could all be together as a family.” It was truly a dick move. As much as she’d wanted to scream about falsities and the family he’d already so easily tossed aside, universities were less expensive in the Republic, especially if she obtained dual-citizenship, so Nacyri had forced herself to swallow her nausea whenever she caught them making out in the hall. 

“And now you’re thirty-three and angsty.” 

“Ugh. What kind of best friend are you?” Nacyri pouted. Her fingers tightened on her phone. 

“The only one you have,” Mitsuki teased. 

They’d met each other in one of their overlap courses. Introduction to Neurochemistry, or something similar. Nacyri liked to think that she hadn’t noticed Mitsuki’s adoring eyes that followed her from the lecture hall to the cafeteria, the library and back but, truthfully, she had. She’d simply been too disillusioned by love, something she’d firmly believed in all through childhood, to bring herself to care. By the time she’d gotten around to forgetting her grief between the sheets of emotionally damaged men, Mitsuki had unfortunately wised up to the ways in which they were not compatible. Sure, they’d slept together occasionally, but a line had been drawn between them that Nacyri hadn’t been able to cross even when she’d desperately wanted to. 

Now, they were both settled in their roles of best friend and platonic life partner, though they dusted off their faded-polaroid-memories on rare occasions where the emptied wine bottles lubricated their descent into mutually appreciative lust. 

It was a story of ill-timed ‘I love you’s, both too much too early and too little too late, reduced to an epilogue filled with hauntingly useless ‘what if’s. 

Nacyri gasped for a breath she’d unconsciously been withholding. “Eh, who needs another best friend when I already have the best of friends?” 

“Good to know that you know,” Mitsuki said wryly. “I was beginning to feel unappreciated.” 

“Well, will you let me appreciate you this Sunday?” 

“What date is that?” Mitsuki asked. 

“May 12th,” Nacyri replied. 

“I’m free. There’s a fight at the Arena I was looking forward to, but I can always just record it for later. What were you thinking?” 

Nacyri licked her lips, “Well... Would you like to see a match in person with me? I’m not sure if it’s the one you’re looking forward to, but I have tickets, so…” 

“What? Why do you have tickets to a match? Which match?” Mitsuki’s confusion was justifiable. Nacyri had always been vocal about her disinterest in the Arena. 

“Ummmm...” Nacyri wasn’t entirely convinced that Hisoka had actually got any sleep on her couch because, the moment she’d gone to wake him, those eyes had opened with an unsettlingly cognizant flash of gold. He’d been up and dressed in minutes, moving comfortably through her apartment as though he owned it, pressing thin paper into her hand after they were out and in the elevator. 

“The tickets,” he’d said, eyes daring her. To accept or refuse, it was hard to tell. “You said you don’t watch Arena matches, but if you really want to understand who I am, then come. I’ll wait for you afterwards in my suite.” He’d disappeared the moment the elevator doors had opened, before she could even begin to protest, almost as if he’d never come to her apartment in the first place. Almost like magic. 

“There’s only one main fight on Sunday, and it was sold out almost immed-” Mitsuki went quiet. “Hisoka the Magician,” they said finally. “It’s Hisoka, isn’t it? The crazy, homicidal bastard who’s harassing you.” 

The psychologist tensed. _Dang,_ she thought. She’d briefly considered the fact Mitsuki might work it out, but hadn’t expected them to do it _that_ quickly. “You know about the fight?” 

Mitsuki snorted, “Of course I do, it’s on all the channels.” 

“Oh. I haven’t had time to watch TV lately.” Nacyri played with her fingers. “I didn’t know.” 

“Yeah, that’s not the important part. Fuck, I’m _stupid._ ” Their tone was very serious. “Everything suddenly makes sense. I’m sure you already know this, Nas, but he’s bad news. If you have even the slightest opportunity to get away from him, do so immediately.” 

“How bad?” Nacyri looked up at the sky, pointlessly searching for stars. Even if the night wasn’t overcast, the glittering beauty of the universe would be obscured by city smog. She seen parts of Hisoka, the threat he posed, but not his ‘true’ Arena self. She was curious about ‘the Magician’ attached to Hisoka’s name, too. Did he perform magic tricks as part of his act? While _fighting?_ Sounded complicated, dangerous, and unnecessarily dramatic... Ugh, that seemed on brand, honestly. 

“He’s killed almost every opponent he’s ever fought at the Arena. He’s lost matches before, but only because he chose not to bloody show up. I’ve… The way he fights… Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s… He’s not just ruthless, he plays with his opponents like they’re toys to be broken and discarded at whim.” 

“Really?” Nacyri wet her lips. So, Hisoka was not in the habit of showing mercy or changing his mind regarding the victims he pursued. Concerning, sure, but nothing she hadn’t already guessed at. She’d known early on that the only way to truly be free of Hisoka, barring his death, was for _him_ to let _her_ go. There wasn’t much she could do about the situation except work from the inside. 

She could almost hear Mitsuki’s shrug. “Kastro is the only person he’s ever left alive to come back for revenge. That's why everybody's so excited to see the fight. Anyway, how _did_ you manage to get seats?”

 _Ah…_ Yeah, that put everything suddenly back into perspective. Reminded her of the stakes, and the odds that were stacked against her. Nacyri shivered, clutching the sleeves of her turtleneck as a chill swept through her. “He… Hisoka gave them to me.” Nacyri said. 

“He did what?” 

“He gave them to me this morning,” she said. 

Mitsuki was silent for a moment. “And you want to _go?_ ” 

Nacyri shrugged. Yes and no, really. She wanted to take up Hisoka’s challenge, despite seeing it for what it was: a calculated temptation. Simply put, she was curious. Why would a man, so averse to any attempts at genuine understanding, promise to reveal himself to her? Prima facie, it didn’t really make sense. 

She’d never seen him fight, but his words at the Oleander had convinced her that Hisoka had dedicated himself wholly to the hedonism of the hunt, of crushing his opponents beneath his heeled feet as he ascended the proverbial ladder. He’d cut away at the parts of him, of his personality, that didn’t help him pursue his ideals until he himself was sharp as a blade. But, if Nacyri’s job had taught her anything, it was that the self was a stubborn thing. If it were so easy for people to change the parts of themselves they disliked, the world would be a very different place. 

Had he felt a little too exposed? Perhaps he hoped to shock her with the dramatic brutality of his assumed persona, use her moment of horror to slam the mask back into place, to assert that the Magician was all there ever was, that Hisoka was the true illusion. But, unfortunately for him, the more he tried to hide behind his mask, the more she was inclined to believe that there was something to hide. 

And _that_ gave her hope.

“I’d be more inclined to actually go if you were with me,” Nacyri answered finally. Of course, she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea that somebody might very well die before her eyes. Especially when it was so unnecessary. Making entertainment out of murder - the very thought set her on edge. 

“I’ll come.”

“Thank you,” Nacyri breathed a sigh of relief. 

“No problem,” Mitsi said. Interestingly, for somebody who made a career out of saving lives, Mitsuki had a surprisingly relaxed relationship with death. It was probably a good thing. In such a high pressure work environment, the alternative was to risk burnout. “Emotional support aside, it’s a free ticket to what might be the fight of the year.” 

Nacyri smiled weakly at her best friend’s enthusiastic tone. They knew her feelings about the Arena, were politely trying to suppress it, but it bled through nonetheless. “Well, I’ll see you Sunday.” 

“Sunday,” Mitsuki agreed. 

She hung up and inhaled deeply, fuel for a long, heavy sigh. 

“Dr Nacyri Fie.” 

He’d pronounced it wrong, the ‘c’ making a hard ‘kuh’ sound instead of the soft cédille ‘s’ her mother had intended. 

She froze, every single muscle in her body clenching, the way they had when she’d dangled in the air. She knew that voice. She turned around to the man behind her. 

He gave her a calm, assured smile. This time, the trenchcoat hid an immaculate dove grey suit, shining leather loafers peeking from beneath his pant hem. “No need to fret, Doctor. I assure you I intend to keep my hands to myself.” 

“Why are you here?” Nacyri asked her attacker, trying to stall as her mind worked. Stupid, she’d seen the empty alley through Hisoka's eyes that night. She should have thought of the possibility of him returning. “You should have died.” She wouldn’t bother using her Nen - she’d tried that already. Her car was unlocked. Would she be able to open the passenger door and lock it before he reached her? She forced herself into an icy calm and assessed the distance. He was about two metres away. She might be able to make it, but it would be quite unlikely. 

“Yet, alas, here I am.” The man splayed his gloved fingers, as if to reassure her. Nacyri swallowed, throat suddenly aching. “I have been asked to politely invite and escort you to meet with a superior of mine.” 

_What do I do?_ She’d begun her judo classes for situations such as this, but she’d had all of one lesson to prepare. She _might_ be able to surprise him, but she wouldn’t do well in a drawn out fight. 

“Politely, huh?” Nacyri repeated. “I made my position clear about strangers and secondary locations.” 

“But we are hardly strangers, Dr Fie,” he countered. “Especially with that ability of yours, I’d argue that we are… intimately… acquainted.” 

“Intimately enough to know better than to go with you,” she replied, reaching for the car door behind her. “Good day.” 

“Dear Doctor,” the man continued, “While I have been instructed to be polite, my request is not negotiable. Either way, you will come with me. Your choice is whether you will arrive conscious and alert or unconscious and defenceless.” 

Nacyri’s own smile was thin. “Threats aren’t particularly polite.” 

He shrugged, “I am fortunate enough to be in the employ of a man who allows certain freedoms… Of interpretation, you might say. And _I_ say that I’m being very polite indeed.” 

“Point made.” She stared at him. Could she run? Perhaps. Could she outrun him? And would the consequences of being too slow wear out whatever patience he had left? 

“Please consider my request carefully. Nobody will come to save you, this time.” 

She glanced back at the dojo. With all its wonderful, Nen-less, useless fighters. She could scream for help, but he could slaughter them all in less than a minute. It would be similar if she called the police. _Damn it._ Nacyri inhaled, then exhaled. “Why are you being ‘polite’ when you already tried to kill me?”

“Circumstances change,” he said. 

_‘Circumstances change’, huh?_ If they were only planning to kill her in a different location, it would be more efficient to just chloroform her and dump her with a slit throat in some side street somewhere. And his manner was far more cordial than the last time, which suggested, at the very least, that they needed her alive. It wasn’t the comfort she might have hoped for, but it was better than nothing. “Fine, I’ll come,” Nacyri clutched her car keys tightly, “on the condition that you tell me where we are going.” 

The man tilted his head. “I will if you give me your phone.” 

She frowned. She didn’t like that. “No.” 

“Then, follow me _and_ give me your phone.” 

Dull fear was beginning to twist her stomach. This was happening. It was really happening. And it was highly unlikely that Hisoka would be here to save her a second time. “No.” 

“Could you repeat that, Doctor? I’m quite sure I heard you ask me to knock you unconscious.” 

_Damn it, again._ “Here,” she sighed, handing her cellphone to him. 

The man smiled, pocketing it with gloved hands. He had warm brown eyes that somehow managed to hide the emptiness she _knew_ was behind them. “Thank you, Dr Fie. Allow me to escort you to the car and we’ll be on our way.” 

The lights of the city pulsed and swirled hypnotically as they passed by, glowing brighter and brighter as they moved inexorably inwards. It felt almost counter-intuitive. The moment he’d called her name, she’d half-expected her destination to be some seedy, rundown warehouse in the forgotten outskirts of Isbire. Somewhere nobody would hear her screams. The place where they pulled up was almost worse, somehow. 

Boasting a ballroom, a casino, both an indoor _and_ outdoor pool, as well as several invitation-only clubs, the Eye was a monument to the hedonism of the rich and famous. The name itself was a joke, a play on the Biblical proverb in Matthew 19:24, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.”

The man who had attacked her twisted for the backseat, the movement making her flinch, and returned holding several bags of what looked like… designer clothes? “You’ll need to change,” he explained. “They won’t let you up if you’re underdressed.” 

“I…” It was such a bizarre thing to see, really. This man had always skulked around alleyways in her mind, but now he was carting around couture. Nacyri followed him out of the car with something almost resembling _obedience,_ and through the doors of the most luxurious sky towers in all of Isbire. 

“Here,” he gestured to a corridor lined with champagne marble, pressing the bags into her hand. The gold symbol of a woman indicated it to be a restroom. “There are no windows that you will be able to escape from and I’ll be on guard out here, so don’t bother trying anything.” 

The warning was unnecessary. A dingy secret warehouse honestly would have made her feel better. But to come here, to come to the Eye implied bold, powerful and unbothered. She might call the police, only for them to arrest her at the whim of whoever this ‘employer’ was. 

Just across from the shower and toilet stalls, there was a powder room replete with gilt-edged, quilted leather furniture. There was a hairdryer affixed to the wall beside the sink, as well as a small assortment of expensive perfumes. She actually owned a few of them, so she knew exactly how much they cost, how excessive it was for them to be so casually presented in a relatively public place.

Nacyri’s teeth found her bottom lip as she opened the bags she’d been given. They were crisp white, the paper thick and soft, the name D’Or neatly embossed in the perfect centre. Another brand she recognised, at the pinnacle of high-fashion. Whatever was inside undoubtedly cost several hundred thousand jenny. 

_What in the actual fuck have I been dragged into?_ She wondered. Her hands trembled faintly. 

The dress she pulled out was the colour of fresh blood. The fabric shimmered slightly in the light. 

She slipped it on. It glided over her skin, soft and sumptuous, with a thread count to match the jenny spent on it. The bust was fitted and tight, characterised by a Queen Anne neckline, red fabric gathering over her shoulders and falling into elegant almost floor-length sleeves. It was beautiful, sensual, and fit like it’d been tailored for her. For all she knew, it might have been. She couldn’t decide if she loved it or hated it. If she’d bought it for herself, then maybe… But she hadn’t, which tipped her more towards the latter. 

The delicate, matching heels she found in the second bag fit her as well. New strips of skin were ripped from her scarred bottom lip as she strapped her feet into the shoes. 

_Message received,_ she thought bitterly, folding her own clothes into the bags and leaving the bathroom. _You know my name, the places I frequent, even the sizes I wear._

Oddly, that was what helped Nacyri regain herself. It was slowly becoming more obvious that she was the type to become calmer, more calculating and ruthless, when she was under threat. Especially when the attacks were psychological in nature. That was _her_ domain, thank you.

She examined her figure in the mirrored wall before sweeping pale frozen waves of hair behind her shoulders. It bared the noxious and sickly greens and fading yellows still accessorising her throat. She would not hide. Her reflection was stunning, poised, and only powerless if she ceded first. 

Her attacker, still unnamed, had folded his trench coat over his arm in a bid to appear more respectable, but even suited up he seemed ill-fitting. Ill-suited to the glamour and opulence of the Eye. He reached for the bags. “Did everything fit properly?” 

“It fits perfectly.” Nacyri’s voice was cool. Everything - all of it, from the clothes to her full name to the location of this meeting - was designed to intimidate her, but she’d had some time to breathe, to centre herself back in that bathroom. “Shall we go?” 

He frowned at her slightly, sensing somehow that the woman who he’d sent into the bathroom was not the one who’d emerged. He nodded once, slowly, before gesturing to the watchful attendant who guarded the elevator aside. 

The cold metal of the golden doors closed around her, the elevator a prism of warm wood and mirrors. When they opened again, it was onto what looked like a private floor. The same golds and creams and cut crystal chandeliers followed them, her heels clacking against the cold marble floors as they reached the end of the corridor and her companion made sure she couldn’t watch as he punched in a code before swiping a black card through the door. 

It unlocked with a soft beep, and even the beep sounded expensive, closer to silverware clinking gently against a glass than anything vulgar and mechanical. Then it opened, and Nacyri was ushered inside. 

“Dr Nacyri Fie.” This new man pronounced her name correctly, though they’d never met. He stood, unjacketed, staring out over the expansive view of the city as if he owned it - and it was quite possible that he did. The tasteful gold rings on his fingers glinted about a crystal glass of amber-coloured liquid. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“I’m flattered,” Nacyri hedged, moving forward slightly. His shoulders were broad and well-formed. That kind of body didn’t speak of a lifetime sitting on the sidelines, letting everybody else get their hands dirty. “Considering the effort spent in the making of it.” Nice, neutral words. 

“Indeed.” The man turned towards her, and Nacyri stopped dead. Her eyes traced that face over and over again, and there was no mistake. “I’ve often found that, when making valuable investments, it is best to spare no expense.”

It seemed she did recognise him, after all.

Nacyri thought fast, pulling out little details, the changes she’d noticed in the lackey standing silently behind her, extrapolating their meaning, approximating a plan as she eyed the outline of muscles beneath the crisp-pressed white of his shirt. A man who liked to be in control, who wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. Who did, in fact, get his hands dirty. In his position, there was no need to step in personally. Which meant he probably enjoyed it, to some extent. “I see. So, this isn’t about Hisoka. I'd been wondering.” 

He had never tolerated rebellion from his daughter, but she was his _daughter._

 _Then should we see_ _how you feel about a little bit of negotiation?_

The man smiled. He was a handsome man, hard and angular and tanned. White salted a full head of short, dark hair. “Oh? What makes you say that?” 

And Dr Nacyri Fie smiled back, hard and cold and brilliant as a diamond. “Because this is about Alexis.” 

Hyuon Iffitzi did not flinch. His smile did not slip out of place as he swallowed the liquor in his glass in one go. But when he set the glass down on a little tray by the plush white couch, the _clink_ was a challenge to battle. “I suppose that removes the need for a formal introduction, then.” Relaxed, confident in his considerably more powerful position, he seemed content to let her make her move. 

And move she did, deliberate and unhurried until she was within distance to hold out her hand. “Why dispense with the niceties, now?” 

The man’s touch was rough and dry, but his mouth was soft as he politely kissed her hand. His eyes were a grey, desaturated blue. Maybe they’d been bluer. Maybe Alexis had stolen the colour from his eyes when she’d inherited them. “Hyuon Iffitzi.” 

“Dr Nacyri Fie,” Nacyri let her hand fall, felt the luxurious fabric of the floor-length sleeves swallow it. Hiding her hand in one moment, revealing another in the next. “But I’m sure you know that. If you’re aware of my dress size, you’re aware of the… rather fond relationship I have with your daughter. You hope to use the trust she’s placed in me to 'guide' her back home. Am I wrong?” It was a bold opening, but she needed to set the tone. And Hisoka had given her some practise. Being bold. 

Hyuon leaned against the couch, re-evaluating. “It's good to know my informants remain competent. I was told you are quite sharp.”

“As a blade,” Nacyri replied. 

He tilted his head. “Fortunately, I am accustomed to handling such tools.”

Subtle threat made, she countered with her own. “I know. Alexis told me.” 

His smile slipped at that. Just a touch. 

Normally, Nacyri was loath to take advantage of a father’s genuine desire to have a good relationship with his daughter, but… “You’re a busy man, so I won’t presume to waste your time. Your little bird has flown the coop, has tasted the possibility of a boundless horizon. If you force her back into her cage now, no matter how much you gild it, she will never sing for you again.” 

Hyuon’s jaw clenched visibly. “Alexis is… going through a phase. All teenagers are like that.” 

_Ugh, gross._ The amount of times she’d heard ‘just a phase’... It sent a knee-jerk flare of irritation through her that she barely managed to rein in. “Exactly,” she replied, her tone pointed. “We call that phase ‘identity formation’. The child’s sense of self grows increasingly independent of their parents until they are able to survive without them. It’s not a reversible process. All the money in the world can’t stop the passage of time.” 

“You’re somebody she trusts. If you persuade her to come home…” 

“Alexis is as intelligent as you are. She’ll find it incredibly suspicious that I’ve suddenly changed my opinions and recognise your hand in it,” Nacyri finished. “I will lose that trust, and all you’ll gain is deepening resentment.” 

His brow furrowed. “I want her home. The world is a dangerous place.” 

“Perhaps, but what you _need_ is to give her the space to come back on her own. Besides," Nacyri couldn’t help it, "she's doing remarkably well for herself.” The ‘without you’ might as well have been said outright. 

One look at his face, and she knew she’d gone a bit too far. 

She was glad he’d set down his glass, because it would have surely shattered beneath his clenched fists. “My daughter,” he hissed, “is working two menial jobs. She lives in a rundown apartment that is smaller than my bedroom.” Nacyri could see his goodwill draining through the cracks in her fingers. 

_Stupid, Nacyri. Maybe don’t get sassy with a mafia boss, yeah?_

She gentled her tone. Spread her palms. Softened her body language. “And I've never seen her happier than she is now.”

Hyuon glared at her. Nacyri held his gaze, unblinking. “You’ve made your point.” His words were veined through with angry heat. 

Time to backpedal. “My point,” Nacyri emphasised, “is that the only way to have a non-toxic, loving relationship with Alexis is to get her to come to you. Which you know. It’s why I’m here, in this dress and these shoes, instead of bleeding out in an alley.” Her gaze was hard. “But I'd rather die than become a puppet."

“An increasingly probable outcome.” He said the words matter-of-factly. 

Nacyri sighed. “Slit my throat, then. Of course, you'll have to throw out this lovely dress. _Or,_ ” she said, “we can negotiate. She loves you, you know. But love isn’t everything. If I suggest it, Alexis will be more open to seeing you. I can provide a neutral space she’ll be comfortable with, as well as a supporting presence.” 

Mr Iffitzi laughed harshly. “You’re offering to chaperone my time with my own daughter?” 

“Simply put, yes. If you’re dissatisfied, you’re welcome to try to make contact without my help,” she raised an eyebrow at him. “I know there’s no reason to trust my words but, unfathomable as it might seem, I also would like the both of you have a _healthy,_ " she emphasised the word, "relationship. I said before that love isn’t everything, but it’s a lot more than some people have.” Her offer wasn’t all that dissimilar to what he’d likely already had in mind. She was _relatively_ sure that he would accept. That, or she’d be driven to a private location on the way home and shot. She supposed she’d find out soon enough. 

He was silent for several long moments, eyes trailing down her figure. Sizing her up, the way Hisoka had done the first time they met. His gaze lingered on her neck, on the bruises fading there. “Alright,” Hyuon said finally, standing from the couch. He looked to the henchman standing behind her and made a gesture. She heard movement and wondered if this was it. _Ah well. If I do, at least, I’ll die in a beautiful dress._ “It’s not wholly unreasonable and I am a reasonable man.” His mouth twisted into something reminiscent of his original, pleasant smile. 

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Nacyri replied cordially. 

“There is still the matter of Hisoka.” 

Nacyri blinked. Oh? She’d dismissed Hisoka as the reason for her visit the moment she recognised Mr Iffitzi, but apparently she’d been wrong. “What about him?” 

“I’d like you to ask him to stop killing my men,” Hyuon said. 

Nacyri frowned. Actually, Hisoka had mentioned he'd been causing some trouble. But why the hell was he targeting members of the bloody mafia? Because they were strong? Whatever the reason, she had bad news. “I can try, but Hisoka won’t listen to me,” she said frankly. “He won’t listen to anybody.” 

“That’s a problem,” Alexis’ father rubbed along the manicured beard along his jawline. “I’d been hoping to avoid a violent solution.” 

“Really?” Nacyri asked. She wished they’d extended the same courtesy to her. “Why don’t you just kill him?” 

Hyuon raised an eyebrow. “A rather placid reaction. I was under the impression you two are together. Were we mistaken?” 

She didn’t bother denying it. At best, it would change very little. At worst, he’d accuse her of lying and she’d suffer the consequences. “I care for Hisoka,” she said, “But not enough to die for him.” 

It was true, too. Alexis was her priority. The girl was sixteen, still a minor. Hisoka, on the other hand, was an experienced fighter, not to mention a goddamned _adult._ He could take care of himself, and Nacyri _really_ couldn’t afford to give Mr Iffitzi more cards. 

Hyuon turned at his henchman’s approach. The man was holding a solid black box with gold designs on the lid. “I like people with an instinct for self-preservation. It makes things simpler.” Hyuon took the box from him, eyes finding Nacyri’s. “This isn’t widely known, but Heaven’s Arena is one of our more lucrative operations. Since Hisoka regularly sells out fights at the Arena, you can imagine the kind of profit he generates.” 

She was not at all surprised to learn the mafia ran Heaven's Arena. It had always felt… twisted... to her. 

Hyuon continued. “If it were just a couple of men, I’d look the other way, but he’s been growing rather… prolific, over the past few weeks.” 

“And now he needs to be stopped,” she finished. 

He shrugged. “I can only be so generous. Originally, we targeted you as a message for him to behave, but when Mr Evandrake here told me about your Nen, it piqued my interest. Psychologists are useful on their own, but the potential of your Hatsu is… enormous. Imagine my shock when we also discovered your connection to my daughter.”

Well, that explained the vastly different tones between her attack and her current situation. Things were making more sense, though it still didn’t explain Hisoka’s actions. 

Did it even matter, though? “And you’d like my help in getting rid of him?” 

_This could be my chance to be free of him,_ Nacyri thought. _Permanently._ She thought of Hisoka, that strange, manipulative, impossibly stubborn man. Of Mitsuki's warnings earlier. Of the person he could be if he chose to stop running from anything and everything that reminded him of his own weakness. It hadn’t escaped her that she was in this undesirable situation because of him. That this was all kind of his fault. _It's a pity, really._

“I know he's your lover. If it comes to that, you'll be compensated for the loss," he answered evenly. When Hyuon opened the box, the light caught the curling letters of a word, ‘Lemniscate’. Nacyri’s eyes widened. "I think you’ll find that working with me comes with several advantages, Dr Fie.”

“And what would I be doing to warrant such _advantages?_ ” Nacyri asked. 

Lemniscate was one of the most elite jewellery brands in the world. Its name referred to a mathematical equation resembling the symbol of infinity, and its ethos was accessories that would remain timelessly exquisite and valuable. People didn’t simply buy jewellery from Lemniscate, they bought family heirlooms. 

“Hisoka has a notoriously bloodthirsty side to him,” he said. “On our own, we’d likely suffer enormous losses. However, with your Hatsu curbing his nastier tendencies…” Gentle fingers lifted a golden necklace heavy with rubies and dangling droplet pearls. Blood and tears, how fitting. How ominous. It was so ridiculously extravagant, so unreal that, when he clasped the choker around her, she jumped at the reality of its cold weight. 

A glance at the subtle reflection in the glossy, immaculate window told her that it covered the bruises on her neck almost completely. She'd traded up, one necklace for another, but, either way, she'd been collared. 

“As I said before, you’re quite the valuable investment." Nacyri’s lungs laboured under the weight of his gift and his words. She wanted to get away, to scream at how fast it had all happened. Hyuon Iffitzi either didn't notice, or didn't care. "Consider this a gift, in anticipation of your future contributions.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Sorry it took me so long to update lol. 
> 
> Firstly, I wanna thank birdonahotdog for funding my bubble tea addiction. You deserve all the big hugs. I'm sorry your chapter doesn't have Hisoka in it 😭 (I made a thing at kofi if anybody else feels like they have too much money lol 😂 https://ko-fi.com/jfyre)
> 
> Second, Hisoka_M did a V Cute Art of Nacyri!  
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> [delete duplicates online](https://dedupelist.com/)  
> Third, once again thank you to thatonepeach for forcing me to remove the 'no beta we die like...' tag. You're the real mvpeach 🍑🍑
> 
> And finally, in case y'all are curious about the inspo for her outfit, I shall provide visuals!  
> Necklace:  
> [](https://ibb.co/8N03xNR)  
> [delete duplicates online](https://dedupelist.com/)  
> Dress (loosely):  
> [](https://imgbb.com/)  
> [delete duplicates online](https://dedupelist.com/)  
> 


	10. Now There's No Clear Wrong or Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it,  
> **  
>  Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it...  
>  _\- Castle, Halsey_  
> 

Nacyri was not driven to the outskirts of town and shot, but the papers on her desk made her wish she had been. 

When Evandrake dropped her off in the parking lot of her dojo, it’d felt like a return to reality. With her feet grounded firmly in the crumbling gravel, his tail lights disappearing into the night, the warm glow streaming through the dojo’s sliding glass doors almost managed to convince her it had all been a dream. Unfortunately, the truth was in the naked confusion on the exiting judokas’ faces as a woman in exorbitantly expensive, dazzlingly crimson formal wear unlocked her white convertible and climbed inside. _Not a dream,_ Nacyri had thought as she unstrapped the heels from her feet, _but certainly a fucking nightmare..._

Which showed no signs of abating. 

_He sure is efficient._ Nacyri rubbed her temples, hoping the pressure would make both the headache and the papers disappear. She’d been fucking subpoenad. Apparently, a psychologist due to give expert testimony in a highly contentious criminal case had disappeared the night before, and somebody had recommended Dr Fie as a suitable replacement. _It hasn’t even been ten hours..._ It was impressive, in a horrible way. 

The concept of proxy testimony was somewhat controversial. Fifty years ago, some legal purists had passed legislation that rendered evidence given by a psychologist (especially with regards to a client’s character) inadmissible by the courts if the professional in question was unable to testify. This was due to the imprecise nature of psychological assessment. Observations made over the course of weeks, months, or years were incomparable to the brief impression one or two sessions could make. However, the danger this placed psychologists in became quickly obvious. Isbire had always been full of influential people determined to maintain their power, and many inconveniently honest people had mysteriously vanished during the decades it took to rectify the mistake. Unfortunately, the system that replaced it was just as easy to manipulate. 

Nacyri had given testimony to the court before, was happy to contribute to the pursuit of justice, but the timing was a little too significant to write off as a coincidence. She looked at the papers and saw them for what they were: a hazing. 

Hyuon Iffitzi wanted to see if his new dog would sit on command. 

The trial for Stefan Lugrich would take place on Tuesday. Together with another psychologist, she’d be required to go through the documents relating to the accused and appropriately interpret them for the jury. The judge had also ordered supplemental sessions, so they could personally observe the defendant... The workload was huge, considering the time frame. Even normally, this situation would be stressful but, if her screaming instincts were correct, she would also be pressured to commit perjury. 

_Ugh…_ She could refuse. She had to refuse. Not the subpoena - its ironclad legality made it the perfect shackles with which to bind her. The only thing she could do was refuse to play Iffitzi’s mind games. So far, Nacyri had kept (in all ways that mattered) to the right side of the law. The moment she did something illicit, especially something so blatant as _giving false testimony,_ Nacyri would go from being handcuffed to the situation to being hanged by it. 

But the consequences of refusing him… She groaned. Well, she’d half-expected to die the moment Evandrake had said her name, so anything more felt almost like extra time. Nacyri wasn’t scared of death. Death came to everyone after all. She was scared of the method. The suffering beforehand. _I’ll need to prepare for the worst,_ Nacyri thought. _It’s just a bit sooner than I expected, is all_. 

The psychologist pulled out her phone and checked the clock on the wall. Her first appointment would start in fifteen minutes. She could ask Sari to cancel a session today, ask Alexis to come in the absence, but Hyuon had made it clear he was aware of his daughter’s affairs. To anybody watching the girl, a sudden trip to the clinic would seem very suspicious indeed, so Nacyri would have to wait until their next appointment. 

Which was tomorrow, on Friday. The court-provided supplemental session had replaced the two preceding her lunch break, presumably to give her time to decompress afterwards before returning to work. After lunch, Nacyri would see Alexis. It was a little over 29 hours away, but it felt like an eternity.

 _What else can I do?_ The psychologist had to set down her phone before she crushed it into her fist, turning towards the computer. A few taps on the keyboard yielded the information she needed. Nacyri sighed, lines of the International Psychology Association’s ethics code running through her head. It felt wrong entering the number, having to pull it up from the clinic records but, again, _not_ a normal situation. 

...Which is why Nacyri hesitated. Why she saved the digits to a new contact, but did not make the call. _Can’t be too careful,_ she thought. It was unlikely, but she wanted to make sure they couldn’t monitor her conversations over the phone. After all, Evandrake had taken it off her last night. She’d have to be careful about what she said in her office too. They did semi-regular sweeps for bugs, but Nacyri would rather be overcautious than caught off-guard. 

Nacyri sighed again, even more frustrated. Yesterday, she’d been a fool. Her judo sessions had restored her sense of purpose, of direction, only for it to be immediately lost. This new situation was even more complicated than before. Actually, that wasn’t quite correct. To be precise, it had always been complicated: she was simply aware of it, now. 

She sat back in her chair, trying to organise her thoughts. There were a lot of moving parts to this situation, so she needed to keep proper track of them. 

Talking to Alexis was a priority. Hyuon would be very unhappy if he found out, but the girl had a right to prepare herself, to know the exact ‘how’s and ‘why’s if shit hit the fan. 

Once she’d gotten Alexis’ consent, Nacyri would go about drafting and formalising her will. 

Best case scenario, Nacyri wouldn’t need it. But Nacyri wasn’t planning for best case scenarios. 

_I need to schedule a meeting with a lawyer, at a time when Mitsuki and Sari are free…_ That in itself was going to be very awkward to explain. It wasn’t every day that a healthy thirty-three year old woman suddenly decided to make a will. Mitsi, especially, was not going to be happy. Sunday would be her best option. Mitsuki was free for Hisoka’s match, and the clinic didn’t operate on Sundays. Hopefully, Sari didn’t have any obligations that couldn’t be pushed aside. 

_I’m also going to have to talk to Rosenna._ Nacyri didn’t always see eye to eye with her step-mother, but she liked and respected her. The woman would do what she asked without too many questions beyond a calm, measured ‘How can I help?’ Her father, on the other hand, would probably have a meltdown. _I’ll try calling tonight,_ she thought. 

Which brought her to the strangest piece on the board. Hisoka. She leaned back into her chair, closing her eyes. He’d been a problem from the start, a problem Hyuon had offered to help solve for her, but it’d be a case of frying pan to fire. Nacyri could almost manage Hisoka. He was strong and more-than-a-little unhinged, but he was also a single man she could temporarily contain with Pacify. The resources and manpower of the Isbirien mafia? Far more of a threat. 

It was almost a blessing that her two biggest problems were in conflict with each other. Nacyri was a big believer in efficiency, and it’d be admittedly satisfying to sit back and watch them destroy each other. Hisoka, dramatic and deadly as he was, could keep Iffitzi in check while putting a sizeable dent in his forces. And Nacyri would have an opportunity to slip through the chaos and escape. 

If she could actually have Hisoka as a willing ally, then that might be even better. She wasn’t exactly sure what he’d demand from her in exchange for his help and protection, but it might almost be worth it. 

Almost. 

Unfortunately, Nacyri did not - and _could not_ \- trust Hisoka. True, he’d been less of a homicidal maniac around her, recently, had even shown her something resembling kindness the night of Mr Evandrake’s attack… Heck, a small part of him might actually _care_ for her, but that didn’t make him reliable. Hisoka was still selfish, still did what he wanted, still harboured dangerous intentions towards her and others. She could ask him for help and it might actually backfire, if he thought that watching her struggle in Iffitzi’s grip was more amusing. No. If she was going to use Hisoka, she needed to be able to do it discreetly, without him knowing. Which, considering how clever and perceptive he was, would be incredibly difficult. 

_Ah, am I being too harsh?_ she wondered. _Maybe I should talk to him after the match. Feel him out._ He had been… different... around her, after all. 

Nacyri sighed. Either way, Hisoka was a last resort. A high-risk, high-rewards card that might cut her with its sharp edges. And in a game with such high stakes, it would be better not to play him at all, rather than play him carelessly.

She examined the smooth grain of her honey wood desk. Her office. The career she’d built with her own two hands. She could keep all this if she bowed her head and did what she was told, but it would be a betrayal to everything she stood for. 

_I’ll have to say goodbye to the apartment._ The thought was bitter, but material possessions were immaterial in the end. She’d started over before. She could do it again. 

Honestly, one of the only things preventing her from disappearing that very night was the idea she’d be leaving her kids behind. Alexis, Bobby, Gosun, Jake, so many others came to mind… Sure, they’d be reassigned to a new therapist, but... She’d never be able to see the rest of their stories play out, would no longer be able to share their joy, joke at the discomfort, to offer them tissues for the tears they shed. To feel that quiet glow of pride in her chest whenever they chose to become better, healthier versions of themselves... 

She pressed the heel of her palm to her chest where, beneath blood and bone and muscle, her heart ached. She wasn’t that old, but she suddenly felt the weight of her years pressing down on her. 

“Ugh… The day’s only just begun and I’m exhausted,” she mumbled. “I want a fucking nap.” A natural response, of course. Sleep was one of the body’s primary ways of coping and dealing with stress. But, alas, it was 7:55AM in the morning, and Gosun was knocking on the door. 

The psychologist masked her tiredness with a smile, and called for him to come in.

As if sympathetic to her desires, the rest of the day felt like a dream, surreal and slightly beyond reach. Time bent out of shape: she was so present for every agonising moment, yet the seconds fell away from her the moment they’d passed, folding inwards on themselves endlessly, drawing more of their brethren into their black-hole density till even the daylight succumbed. Like dreams, it seemingly happened in the blink of an eye, and suddenly Nacyri was striding into the evening. 

She drove home in a bubble. 

Her head felt emptier than usual, the frustration and stress of the last few days faint and surface-thin, like the reflections of clouds in a window pane. And behind the glass was the world, visible but separate. 

_I’m dissociating,_ she realised. Another coping mechanism, but she didn’t mind. For the time being, not being able to touch her emotions was probably not the worst thing. While emotions drove rationality, too much fear or grief would limit her. She’d already reasoned her way through her current predicament until she reached the most likely conclusions. With so little information, so many variables, and no actual confirmation from Hyuon Iffitzi, she’d only be encouraging an anxious downward spiral if she forced herself to do more. And blind panic was not her style. 

Besides, Nacyri trusted herself. Her subconscious had likely snatched the problem from her consciousness’ hands before retreating to tinker in peace. Far better to give it the peace it needed. 

After tossing her keys onto her kitchen bench, she tried to contact Rosenna. The line rang out into heavy silence. She tried again. Nothing. “Tomorrow, then,” she told herself, and left her phone beside her keys. 

There was work she could probably do but Nacyri was fresh out of mental energy, so she took a sponge and powder disinfectant and cleaned the shower. Went through her nightly skincare routine while she vacuumed and mopped the floors. She wasn’t hungry, but she heated up a meal she found in the freezer. As she waited for it to cook, she dusted her pottery collection, fingers tracing over soothing blue-green curves. Perfect and perfunctory, her body moved like clockwork, deliberately wasting seconds on unnecessary tasks until it was bedtime. 

And that was that. 

When the time came for her to actually lay down, Nacyri hoped the fatigue that had plagued her all day would not suddenly abandon her. This was a problem she ran into somewhat frequently with her clients - where a sleepless night spent stressing over undesirable outcomes became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. It was against logic to slice open your Achilles tendons before running for your life, but brains were far less logical than people liked to believe. As it turned out, there was never any reason for concern. 

Dr Nacyri Fie had always possessed the ability to fall asleep, even when the world around her was on fire. 

She woke half an hour before her alarm as Friday dawned pale and wan. Sunrises could certainly be just as extraordinary as sunsets, but this one was limp and desaturated, with only the faintest hints of yellow tingeing the white of the sky. She didn’t bother taking her coffee to the balcony, instead taking a moment to check her emails. She wanted to call Rosenna again, but it was 2AM in Mimbo Republic. If her step-mother didn’t answer her last night, it was even more unlikely that she’d answer now. 

She showered and drank a second coffee with her breakfast. Brushed her teeth and rinsed her bleached foam spit down the sink. She pulled on some clothes - a black, mock-neck long-sleeve stark beneath a white pleated midi skirt - grabbing her keys, purse, handbag and locking the apartment behind her. 

The traffic was chaotic on the drive to the clinic, all screeches and horns. Nacyri ignored it, turning up the volume on the radio until the world was fogged out by jazz. 

By the time she pulled into her usual parking space, the caffeine had kicked in and she felt a little more human. Human enough to get out and walk through the doors of the clinic. 

Sari’s dark, half-moon eyes glossed slightly as she yawned a greeting. “Nas. Morning.” 

“Not a ‘good’ morning?” Nacyri asked. 

“Mmph, no.” That resoundingly positive response appeared to be all the explanation Nacyri would get. 

The psychologist leaned onto the counter. “I see. Let me know if there’s something you want to talk about, okay?” 

The girl heaved a sigh and nodded, “I will. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Nacyri cleared her throat. “Actually, I have a huge favour to ask. Do you have plans on Sunday?” 

“I was going to go to brunch, but I can cancel if it’s serious. What did you need me for?” 

“A legal witness,” Nacyri replied. Sari raised an eyebrow and she suddenly realised how that sounded. “It’s a personal matter!” she added hastily. “Nothing to do with the clinic. I’ll try and schedule it around your brunch date, but it might be tricky.” 

The girl frowned, the smooth golden skin between her eyebrows crinkling. “I see. Let me know when and I’ll make time.” 

“Thank you so much.” Nacyri sighed in relief. “Ah, also...” she hesitated, “when was the last time Clance swept the office for bugs?” 

“This morning,” Sari replied. “I asked him to do it when we received the subpoena, since it’s a high-publicity case. He didn’t find anything, so you should be good to go.” 

Today was Nacyri’s first scheduled meeting with the accused. Though the interview would not take place at the clinic, moving a suspect to and from incarceration created unnecessary security risks, so the psychologists on the case would be escorted to and from the jail by an officer. 

Since it was incredibly difficult to sneak recording equipment into a correctional facility, there had been cases where journalists had bugged a testifying psychologist’s office in the hopes of catching a sentence or two juicy enough for a headline. 

It was both highly illegal and invasive practise, a thankfully rare occurrence. But, for once, Nacyri was grateful. She had an excuse to be paranoid about the confidentiality of her office space, so her request wouldn’t have seemed out of place, but Sari - that absolute angel - had already taken care of it. 

“You are the best receptionist in this country.”

“Best receptionist in the _continent._ ” Sari corrected with a grin, “Don’t be modest on my behalf.” 

“An egregious mistake I won’t be repeating,” Nacyri replied, disengaging from the desk. “Is it okay if I text you the details about Sunday?” 

“Text is fine,” Sari said. “Enjoy your day, Nacyri.” 

“You too.” Her fingers played with her keys as she walked away. Sari truly was a gem. Bright in every sense of the word, extraoardinarily composed and efficient for a woman of 22 years. 

_I need to treat that girl to a meal,_ Nacyri thought fondly. The warm appreciation dissipated some of the fog inside her. 

... _I’ll miss her a lot._

And, with that, the fog rolled right back, the smile on her face clouding over as if it’d never been there. 

Her morning sessions were vaguely blurry. Nacyri tried her hardest to be fully present, but it just wasn’t happening. There wasn’t much in the way of drama, thank goodness, but two of her three sessions were with people who had yet to open up to her despite several appointments together. They danced around important subjects, clutching their secrets tight to their chest as if Nacyri were some goblin just waiting to rip them wide open and feast on their insides. 

Those kinds of clients were always frustrating. They made everything into a game, made her walk a pointless labyrinth of fake corridors and trick mirrors, as if she had to prove her worth before she could access their secrets. It was tiring and insulting, to be asked for help but only if she ‘qualified’ herself according to whatever standards they set. 

Sure, Nacyri could understand where they were coming from - it was important to find a therapist that made them feel comfortable. However, once found, they had to actually do some groundwork. Vulnerability sucked. It was scary and uncomfortable. But the whole point of therapy was to unpack trauma with somebody else in exchange for new perspectives on how to heal from it. And, in the end, unless people were actually willing to become a little vulnerable, therapy was a waste of time, words, and money. 

When her 10AM session finished, Nacyri slumped in her chair. The police officer escorting her to the prison would be arriving soon, but she wasn’t going to wait for them outside. These few minutes she had were precious and she intended to use them for micro-meditation. 

This fog inside her, this dissociation, had kept her from being too anxious, but she needed her clarity back now. 

She closed her eyes, counting her breaths. Visualised gathering the fog into her lungs, expelling it with each exhalation. One of the best grounding techniques was to actively reach for the world, attending to each of the senses, which she did. Her office smelled gently of green pine, dusted with spicy herbs and top notes of fresh citrus. It was the scent of her childhood home, comforting and familiar, or at least as close as she could get to it. It had taken some experimenting before she found the right combination of scented oils, but Nacyri was pleased with the end result. She could hear the hum of the computer tower, undercut by the faint whirring of the air conditioner as it moderated the mild Isbirien autumn. In the stillness, she could feel the air in her lungs, the subtle thrumming of her pulse in her throat and the bends of her arms. The leather of her office chair crumpled and hissed slightly as she shifted, warm where it had soaked up her body heat. She observed the world around her quietly. Reached through the mist of her inner turmoil and grasped the reality of her armrests. 

There was a polite knock on the door and Nacyri’s eyes fluttered open to the poster of native butterfly species she had on the wall. 

_Finally._

“Dr Fie? The officer is here to escort you.” Istumi’s voice was vaguely distorted by the wood. 

It was time for some answers. 

“I’m coming!” she called. 

Nacyri left the chair, crossing to the room. She adjusted the waistline of her midi skirt, smoothing down the pleats, and took a deep breath. 

She opened the door with a smile-

-and the breath left her immediately. 

_Yes,_ the anxiety and grim satisfaction rushed over her like a wave. _I was right, after all._

He stood in uniform, wearing a polite expression. It looked natural on him, as if he was never anything other than an affable, mild-mannered defender of the peace. As if he didn’t spend his off-hours committing the very crimes he was sworn to protect against. “Nice to meet you, Dr Fie,” he said, eyes sparkling with private amusement. “I’m Officer Evandrake, but you can call me Robert. I’ll be escorting you today.” 

Nacyri’s smile transformed into something with teeth. “I’ll be in your care, _Officer._ ” 

“Indeed, you will,” he said easily. “Are you ready to go?” 

“I am,” Nacyri replied, tilting her head. “I suppose you want me to follow your lead?” A subtle question for the policeman: she wanted to know the rules and the penalty for breaking them. 

“That would be preferable,” Evandrake answered with equal subtlety. “Since your safety is my primary concern.” 

_Oh, I fucking bet…_ Nacyri wanted to punch him. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Itsumi frowned at the charged atmosphere, eyes moving between the two. He’d had combat experience in the Arena, so it was only natural he sensed something was off with the exchange. He shot a look at Nacyri, who forced her expression to soften. It’d be problematic if she accidentally involved him. Itsumi didn’t quite buy it. “Dr Fie,” he interjected smoothly, “Would you like me to accompany you and the officer?” 

Nacyri touched his shoulder briefly, “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll have to decline. The officer will be more than enough.” 

Evandrake nodded at her, then at Itsumi, before stepping back with a gracious gesture. “Then, if the lady could please follow me to the car...” 

Nacyri did so, albeit reluctantly, hiding her clenched fists in the pockets of her skirt. They passed through the lobby, empty but for a few clients waiting patiently for their sessions to start, and out through the automatic doors. 

Over the course of the morning, the sky had been dyed an intense, almost threatening blue. Just one single blue shade, completely unbroken by clouds, it glared down at the world. And some colour returned to Nacyri’s face as she glared back. 

Officer Evandrake - gah, even thinking it pissed her off - opened the passenger door for her. “Mind your head,” he murmured. 

Nacyri made an inelegant noise, scowling as she slid into the waiting seat. He closed the door and locked it. The _click_ seemed to echo in the space. Maybe it was a force of habit, maybe it was nothing, and yet… It felt like he was rubbing in the fact she was well and trapped. Nacyri put on her seatbelt and seethed. 

She hadn’t been this angry in a while. Scared yes, but even Hisoka had not made her this _angry._ Hisoka was a twisted bastard, sure. He’d probably killed twice as many people as the man currently buckling his own seatbelt. But at least Hisoka was fucking honest about it. He owned his sins, wore them like a badge. 

Evandrake - Officer Evandrake - actually had a badge. It shone silver against the navy of his uniform. He had been given power and authority to better protect others. He was _supposed_ to be one of the good guys, was supposed to be somebody that citizens could trust their safety to. In breaking that trust, he dragged the rest of the force down with him. 

Truthfully, Nacyri had hated him less when he was strangling the life from her. 

So, when a tight silence descended on the car, she did nothing. He might as well be strangling her still, for all the words she could squeeze from her throat. 

Instead, Nacyri stared out of the window, counting the minutes. Heaven’s Arena grew smaller and smaller as they drove away from the city centre. Traffic had eased off since this morning but, even so, the ride was uncharacteristically smooth. One of the perks of travelling in a marked police vehicle, she supposed. Everybody was so very quiet and polite and obedient. 

Too bad... 

She wouldn’t mind a reckless driver appearing right about now. She fantasised about metal crumpling around the body of her companion. He had Nen. He’d survive. 

Too fucking bad...

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observed after fifteen whole minutes of it. 

“Do _not_ talk to me.” She didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of her voice. 

Evandrake laughed. “Come now, doctor, don’t be petty. You saw this coming.” 

“Did I?” she asked. 

He indicated before changing lanes. “You barely reacted when you saw me.” 

Nacyri exhaled slowly, eyes fixed out the window. “Call it a hunch,” she said finally. “The subpoena smelled too much of blood to be unrelated.” 

Evandrake made an amused sound, “I’ll have to wash my hands more carefully, next time.” 

“You’re not funny,” Nacyri deadpanned. 

“It was a _little_ funny.” He made a smooth right turn. Nacyri vaguely recognised the intersection - they were almost there. “Our boss would’ve laughed.” 

“Speaking of _your_ boss,” her emphasis was pointed, “I told him I would not play puppet.” 

“Bold of you to assume you ever had a choice in the matter.” There was something almost regretful in his tone. Something that cut through her anger, made her look at him. His eyes were fixed nonchalantly on the road ahead. 

_Oh?_ From what she’d experienced, what she’d felt, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of regret. The uncanny, awful emptiness of his emotional landscape still haunted her. It… didn’t make sense. 

“Is that what happened to you?” she asked. “Did you think you had a choice?” 

He shrugged, and now it was her turn to wait on answers. This silence was less tense, but Nacyri almost wished it wasn’t so. 

“Doesn’t matter, does it?” he said finally. It was a question that wasn’t a question. “All that matters is the end result.” 

Everybody had stories. Perhaps, Officer Robert Evandrake hadn’t entered the police force with the express intention of becoming corrupt. 

“I professionally disagree,” Nacyri replied. “The process always matters. Always.” 

Perhaps, he’d found himself faced with the exact same choice as her, only with a lot more to lose. 

They slowed to a stop at a guard tower. The man beside her pulled out a wallet and handed it to the woman inside. She scrutinised it, turning to tap something into her computer. 

“A word of advice, Doctor,” Evandrake’s tone was friendly. The woman handed back what Nacyri assumed was some form of identification, and the intimidating iron gates began to open. He waited until the window had rolled up fully before speaking again. “That kind of thinking is a luxury you can’t afford in your situation.” 

Her jaw clenched as they pulled into the jail, the words ‘Bradley Eisen Correctional Facility’ reminding her of why she was here. It looked like any jail, nondescript blocks of concrete surrounded by barbed wire. Desolate and utterly cheerless. 

There was clearly a story behind his words, but Nacyri didn’t want to know it. Frustration bubbled at her helplessness. At her ‘situation’. She didn’t want to sympathise. As he’d reminded her, that kind of thinking wasn’t a luxury she could afford. 

Nails dug into the skin of her palms as her hands formed fists. “Thanks for the _advice._ ” Nacyri spit out, “But if you think that I’m going to help some murderer escape conviction, think again.” 

He laughed loudly at that and Nacyri felt a pit form, sick and sudden, in her stomach. “You’ve got it wrong, Doctor.” Evandrake parked with enviable efficiency, silencing the engine with a twist of keys. “We’re not asking you to exonerate Stefan Lugrich.” He tilted his head at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to get the joke. “We’re asking you to help put him away.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy! No Hisoka in this chapter either, oops. Third time's the charm? Sorry it took a little longer to update - I had a moderately invasive medical procedure done and I've been experiencing some minor complications that have made me very tired and ugh in general. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the update! 
> 
> As always, your words and support are so incredibly precious to me. Thank you again, birdonahotdog, for the kofi donations. I solemnly swear that I will use it only for good - and, by good, I mean bubble tea. (If anybody else feels like throwing money at me, you can do it here: https://ko-fi.com/jfyre). Also, I'll probably upload little slice of life pieces to the page whenever I get the urge, so... Ya :) 
> 
> A quick question, for those who feel so inclined to answer: Do you ship Nacyri and Hisoka, and why? I'm very curious about this. 
> 
> Also, in news! I've been lamenting for some time now that Hisoka is not my OC, since I live for his and Nacyri's dynamic, so I'm thinking of writing an original story. Think dark faeries - pre-Disney, could fxck you or eat you depending on their mood - a neurodivergent girl finding family in a world hostile to her existence, _and_ a dangerous deal with a Hisoka-inspired faerie! When I actually get around to writing this, would you guys be interested in reading original works of mine? Enough to follow me onto different platforms? I know Tapas has a self-publishing option available for writers. Anyway, it's still in the works, but I was just curious. 
> 
> Anyway, thank y'all for being patient and coming on this lil journey with me. You're all hella precious and deserve the world.


	11. The World's Just Shades of Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Black and it's white,  
>  Everything's white but it's blacker than I know,  
> Even blacker than the white of the snow, yeah,  
> And all that I, oh, know,  
> No, no, no, no  
>  _\- Lurk, The Neighbourhood_**  
> 

The rejection came immediately. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t be forced to do his dirty work. I won’t help put an innocent man in jail.” 

Robert tilted his head, eyes flat and dark as slate. “If it’s dirt you’re worried about, you’d do well to ponder the filth of a shallow grave, Dr Fie.” 

“But at least I’ll be going into it with a clean conscience,” she replied witheringly. “When will you assholes learn that no means no, not 'threaten my life and see if I change my mind'?”

“That’s easy,” Evandrake told her. “When you can no longer change your mind.” 

“You bastard. I-” She pressed her lips together to stifle the flow of emotion-thick denial. Disgust. Dismissal. Any pity she might have had leftover from his unexpected show of emotion - which still felt weird, mind you - was gone. He’d basically just told her that there was no escape from the path before her. That she’d be in Hyuon Iffitzi’s - or some person like him - tight grip until the day she died. 

“He’s going to be put away, regardless of your help,” he said. “We can always find others. At least, this way, you can save yourself.” 

Ah, but that was the true trap: the situational equivalent of a gateway drug.

Proud people were difficult to force into submission, and Nacyri’s faith in herself was rock solid. She didn’t believe she was always correct, that she was perfect, or other nonsense like that. But her sense of self was tempered by fire. Of course, she was comparatively lucky - her life had been mostly rich with love and opportunity - but _nobody_ made it out unscathed. And for Nacyri, she’d always managed to endure, to move forward even if it felt like crawling on broken glass, by reminding herself that ‘this too shall pass’. 

But what if it didn’t pass? What would she hold onto then? 

In the same way water carved away stone over time, years of bowing her head, of reluctant ‘yes’s drip-drip-dripping from her lips for the sake of mere survival, would eventually reduce her to nothing. And Nacyri would become hollow, the puppet she so despised. 

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. She’d glimpsed how her future would look, if she were to stay in Isbire, and it sickened her. 

Yet, that didn’t stop her from climbing out of the car. 

From silently following him into the prison, or signing the entry forms with a shaking hand and letting him escort her into the room where a doomed man awaited her. 

The room was cold. It contrasted her mood, forcing some of the anger burning inside to cool. 

Stefan Lugrich sat at a table, accompanied by a lawyer doing his best to blend into the corner - apparently the other psychologist had yet to arrive. He was a homely looking man, sporting neat cropped hair that blended blonde with grey and a stocky frame gone soft with the years. He hunched over the bare steel, somehow small and withdrawn despite his size. 

The eyes that looked at her were a cornflower blue, glazed and shocky. 

The gaze of a man who had passively accepted his fate. 

Nacyri cautiously sat opposite him, suppressing a shiver, and shot a look at the lawyer. The man, suited in pinstripe navy, nodded back at her. 

_Alright, then._

“Hello,” Nacyri greeted in her best psychologist voice. Smooth and soothing, the kind you might use on a wild animal. “I am Dr Nacyri Fie, I’ll be conducting this interview alongside my colleague. When he gets here, of course.” 

“Stefan Lugrich.” His voice was heavily accented. The basic information attached to the subpoena had mentioned his immigration to Aratula - specifically its capital city, Isbire - from the Federation of Ochima.

“It’s good to meet you, Stefan. I noticed your accent... What part of Ochima are you from?” 

“Ah, a small province in the south,” he said. 

“Near the Hameg region?” Nacyri asked. “Or further east?” 

Stefan perked up, “Yes! You know Hameg?” 

“Only a little,” Nacyri said. The Federation of Ochima was often described as a continent masquerading as a country, featuring several main languages and hundreds of different, distinct communities. The region of Hameg alone had eight different dialects. “I’ve always wanted to visit, but I never got around to it.” 

_Perhaps I can go,_ she thought. _After all this time._ There was a famous saying that, if you walked across a valley in Ochima, you would find yourself in a village with completely different customs from the one you had just left. A place like that, where communication wasn’t as streamlined and towns were isolated from each other, would be easy to disappear into for a few years. 

“Still, you know it.” Stefan smiled. “That is good. Aratula is opposite place of the world. Not many people know Hameg.” 

“Do you miss it?” Nacyri asked. 

His expression, which had brightened momentarily, went dark. “Of course,” he said. “It is home.” 

_Ah…_ No doubt, he must wonder why he had made the effort of traversing oceans and crossing continents in search of a new life if he was only going to be locked away. She quickly searched for an appropriate apology, “I’m-” 

But a polite knock on the door interrupted whatever Nacyri had been about to say. 

The door swung open to reveal two figures. 

Nacyri straightened, looking at them both. So did Stefan. His cornflower irises were fixed hard on the officer grinning at her with cold eyes. 

“This is Dr Antony Carlisle,” Evandrake pat the other man on the shoulder warmly. Dr Carlisle, for his part, looked distinctly uncomfortable with the action. “Antony, meet Stefan Lugrich and Dr Nacyri Fie. The man in the corner is Grayson Pierce. He is Mr Lugrich’s attorney and will be present for the interview.” He paused, surveying them all. There was something about Robert’s manner, something satisfied and serpentine that set her teeth on edge. He’d been the same in the car, as if he was laughing at some cosmic joke to which only he was privy. “We’ll be working together over the next few days, so let’s get along, shall we?” 

She swallowed Robert’s meaning, felt the bitterness of it snake its way into her stomach. 

This man… This Dr Antony Carlisle… He was in on it too, wasn’t he? 

He didn’t look like he was on the payroll of the mafia. She’d suspected the lawyer, maybe, but… Dr Carlisle’s eyes looked kind and clear. The lines on his face told her he laughed more than he frowned. She wanted to trust him. And yet. 

Damn. Damn it. She was so damned angry. 

Dr Carlisle took his seat beside Nacyri and cleared his throat. His expression was neutral, pleasant even, but that meant nothing in their line of work. You had to know how to control your expressions. Hell, her face was neutral, too, even though her insides felt like they were boiling in a soup of her blood. “Now that we’re all acquainted,” he asked, glancing at Nacyri for confirmation, “Shall we get started?” 

She nodded slowly, fists clenching beneath the table. She let them stay like that a few seconds, then forced them to unclench. 

And the interview began. 

It was a basic introductory interview, not dissimilar to the intakes they did for the clinic. Furthermore, the court had already provided a list of questions that they were to ask, so Nacyri didn’t need to put in all that much effort. 

By some unspoken rule, Dr Carlisle did most of the asking. He was older than her, as far as she could see, by a good fifteen years and she didn’t mind deferring to seniority. Especially since her headspace was currently compromised. 

The more questions they asked, the more the situation was confirmed to her. 

While framing your enemies for your crimes was incredibly satisfying, it was more difficult to do. Far better - and cleaner - to take advantage of some poor sod and offer them money or whatever it was they so desperately needed in exchange for taking the fall. Stefan Lugrich was one of these. 

A poor, desperate immigrant, with nobody he could rely on for support. An easy target, with everything to gain and nothing to lose. 

Nothing, of course, except his freedom. 

Stefan answered their questions politely, in a clear voice that only really started to tremble when Xenia was mentioned. The psychologists glanced at each other. _Xenia..._ Nacyri thought. _This has something to do with his daughter._

Dr Carlisle cleared his throat and cautiously resumed, but Stefan’s cool had been derailed. His grammar fell apart within the next few minutes, his words stuttering and uncomfortable as the questions became more and more specific. 

Like what kind of relationships he had with his parents and friends. Did he consider himself to be an antisocial person? On a scale of 1 to 10, how stressful did he find his former job? Could he tell them a little bit more about his daily routines? How had he been sleeping, recently? 

It was obvious he was lying. He answered the questions as if he were reading from a script. Perhaps they had prepped him ahead of time on what to say. 

_I need to know more. She might be in danger._

They ran out of questions abruptly. The court had left the interview open-ended, in case either professional felt a question to be necessary, but neither of the psychologists had anything to add. Or, rather, they wanted to discuss today’s interview, which focused mainly on his general character, and then formulate questions for the second interview, which would detail the night of the murder. 

“Then, I won’t keep you any longer,” Dr Carlisle nodded politely to Stefan. He held out a hand to Nacyri. “Shall we?” 

She ignored the hand, turning to meet a cornflower gaze. “Before we leave…” Nacyri hesitated. “Would it be okay if I speak to Stefan alone?” 

“Absolutely not!” the lawyer spluttered. Mr Pierce had been content to watch until now - and no wonder, since Antony had conducted the interview perfectly. So perfect, in fact, that it felt manufactured. Fake. Funny that. “That is a clear violation of-” 

“I will do it,” Mr Lugrich’s voice hobbled the protest by its knees. 

Antony looked between them, between Nacyri and Stefan, before nodding slowly at the clearly displeased attorney. “After you, sir,” he said. 

The two other men walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the accused. 

“Right.” Nayri cleared her throat, eyeing the door, the mirror. They’d be monitoring her, of course. She leaned on her hand, covering her mouth in case there were any lip readers lurking about. “Mr Lugrich,” she murmured, “It has become increasingly clear to me that you are innocent of the crime for which you have been charged.” She held up her hand to stop his hasty denial. “If you could, I would appreciate it if you told me of the extenuating circumstances… The _real_ reason you’re sitting here. And what…” She took in a deep breath. “What dirt he has on you.” 

Stefan, who had managed to keep his head high the entire interview, looked down. His shoulders slumped. Even then, he stayed silent. 

“Please,” Nacyri murmured softly. “I want to try and help, if I can.” 

A quiet shudder rippled through his body. 

“Please,” she repeated. 

“I… was never good with my brain, you know?” he said. Stefan’s accent rang through the room. “It was fine, my wife was always so smart. I liked cleaning, liked working with my hands. Simple. Honest, you know? But not much money. Now she’s gone… Gone. And my daughter…” His fist clenched. “For Xenia,” he said finally. “I will do anything. She needs better life than I give her.” 

She could see the immense strain he must be under for those proud shoulders to bow. There was something particularly damaging about doing your best and knowing in your bones that it would not be enough. And so he had turned elsewhere. 

_That’s love,_ Nacyri thought. No doubt about it, he loved her. He was willing to go through extraordinary hardship to give her an easier life. 

But, in the end, Xenia was still a teenage girl who would be left alone. 

She shook her head wordlessly, trying to silence the subtle echoes of an eighteen year old desperation. “Is there any way I can get you to reconsider?” 

“It is life,” he said. Stefan was unable to meet her eye. He took a deep breath. “Sometimes, you must make deal with devil.” 

_A deal with the devil, huh?_ She did not dare allow her thoughts to turn to Hisoka. “She needs her _father_ ,” Nacyri said. The word made her throat close up a little. Stefan... It was similar to Stephen, no? What a bitter coincidence. “Far more than she needs money.” 

“That man will take care of my Xenia.” 

That man… “Are you referring to Hyuon Iffitzi?” she asked quietly. 

Stefan looked as though she’d suckerpunched him. “How…?” 

“Can you be sure he will keep his word?” Nacyri pressed, feeling heavier than she’d thought possible. “This deal between you is an illegal one. You’ll have no way of ensuring he keeps his word from behind prison bars.” 

Stefan shrugged. “I know men like him. There are many same back home. I can agree or not agree, but result is the same. This way, there is chance for her.” 

Stefan Lugrich was forced to settle, to hope for the best. She could understand. She could even relate. But still… 

“So, to be clear,” Nacyri said, “your daughter is not being threatened. Is that the case?” 

A dead mother. An absent father. A girl alone in the world. 

Nacyri empathised with that more than she cared to admit. 

_Stop it,_ she warned herself. This was neither the time nor situation to be projecting her personal feelings. 

He nodded, “She is safe.” 

Nacyri sighed in relief. Thank goodness. That was another variable she couldn’t afford to worry about. “Mr Lugrich, I want to be frank with you.” She’d never been religious, never gone to a priest, but she wondered if this was how it felt to make a confession. “I’ve been asked to assist in this case by the same man you mentioned.” 

He stilled, surprised. He hadn’t expected, out of all people, for her to be one. To be a puppet. “I see.” 

She inhaled. “If I do not cooperate, I will suffer the consequences of my decision. But if I do cooperate…” Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I will still suffer the consequences of my decision. Right now, I am not sure who else is working with Mr Iffitzi. I am unsure if my contribution will change anything. But I am still willing to try. So, I’d like you to choose. I can lie and help them lock you away for the next ten years, or I can tell the truth. Personally, I think you should fight if you can. Because all the money in the world will not buy back the time with Xenia that you will be giving up.” He flinched at that and Nacyri felt a pang. Was this the right thing to do? Was it ethical to meddle, to give him hope when the chances of success were so low? Regret was a bitter poison, after all. “However, I will respect your decision. The way I conduct myself… The testimony I give… It is up to you.” 

Stefan eyed her for several long moments. She could see it in his gaze - desperation mixed with hope, mixed with pity. 

And in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. If he wanted to fight, she’d go down swinging, own pride intact. If he asked her not to interfere, so that his ill-conceived deal with Hyuon Iffitzi went smoothly, well, she’d have his permission to keep quiet. To prioritise herself, regardless of his potential suffering. Because that was what he had chosen. 

It was a moment of rare weakness - driven by a desire to be selfish without guilt. 

The woman held her breath and tried to keep her hands still against the cold table, to silence their nervous drumming as she waited for the only verdict in this case that truly mattered...

The ride back to the clinic was a silent one. The interview had drained her of the energy required to be polite and, after a few attempts at conversation, Officer Robert Evandrake finally got the message. 

He did not escort her back inside. Nacyri supposed she ought to be thankful for small mercies, but couldn’t muster anything resembling gratitude. 

Stefan’s answer… She’d both hoped for and dreaded it. 

Almost as much as she dreaded the conversation she was about to have with her favourite client. 

She entered the way she usually did - poking her head around the corner like a four year old, wide grin on her face. “Hey Nas!” she called, and the rest of her body made it around the door. 

Nacyri smiled at the girl, but this time it was genuine. And genuine meant tired. 

Alexis skipped a half-beat when she saw it, closing the door behind her. “Uhh, I know this is supposed to be my therapy session,” she began, “but do you need to talk?” 

The psychologist took a deep breath. Alexis may have meant it as a joke, but… “Actually, we do need to talk.”

The words threw the teenager completely off. “We do?” 

“Yes.” Nacyri said, smoothing her skirt in a nervous gesture. “You might want to take a seat.” 

An unsure frown. “Dr Fie?” But she took a seat anyway. The movement was hesitant. “Is everything okay?” 

“It’s fine,” Nacyri replied automatically. Then caught herself. She was not being a therapist, right now. “Actually, it’s not fine.” She took a big breath. “I know this seems a bit futile but, before I say anything, I need you to promise me you’ll stay calm.” 

“Nacyri…” Alexis looked alarmed. 

“Promise me,” her voice was firm. “Neither you nor I can afford to freak out.” 

The teenager looked somehow even more alarmed. But her voice, when it came out, was controlled. “I see. Okay, I promise.” 

The psychologist was quietly hopeful, quietly nervous. This would go terribly if Alexis became emotional and panicked. “I met your father,” Nacyri didn’t delay any longer. She figured it would be better to rip off the bandaid quickly. “He wants you to come home, and he’s willing to go to extremes to achieve that. Including, but not limited to, threatening my life.” 

Alexis went pale. “No...” She shook her head. “No, I... Ugh, I knew it,” she whispered. “I just _knew_ that he’d be involved. Nacyri, I’m so so sorry, I...” The teen squared her thin, tanned shoulders. “I’ll go back and make sure he won’t bother you again.” 

The psychologist shook her head vigorously, even as a pleasant affection bloomed warm inside her. Alexis was genuinely precious. Nacyri could understand why Hyuon Iffitzi wanted to lock her away, even if she didn’t agree with his sentiments. “That’s exactly the opposite of what I think you should do.” She said firmly. “Since his interest in me doesn’t only extend in getting you back. I’m not sure how much you know about Nen, but I have a special ability that he'll be very keen to maintain a hold of. And once you’re back with him, you’ll lose all your progress, all your agency, with no actual guarantee that he’ll keep his word and leave me alone.” 

The girl’s face went blank. “What’s a Nen?” 

“Uhhh…” How to explain succinctly? “Think of it like a magic ability you perform using your ‘aura’, which is what we call your life force.” 

Alexis blinked. “Okay? Okay.” 

Nacyri laughed. “You’re taking this very well.”

The teenager sat fully back on the couch, bringing her knees tight to her chest. A self-comfort mechanism. “You told me not to freak out,” she mumbled. “So, I won’t.”

“I appreciate that.” 

Alexis hugged herself tighter. “So, what’s the plan, Dr Fie?” 

Nacyri forced herself to focus. She’d have to tread carefully, here. “Well, first of all, we need to prepare for the very real possibility that I might die soon,” Nacyri said slowly. The girl startled. “And part of that involves making an official will. Now, if it is okay with you,” she emphasised, “I would like to leave you with some money. I don’t think it’s wise to leave it to you directly, so-” 

“No!” Alexis protested, “No way!? You can’t die.” 

“Well, I’m going to have to die eventually,” Nacyri replied soothingly. “It just might be a little sooner than I originally planned.” 

“I’m not taking your fucking money, then.” She’d never seen the girl look so miserable. “If you die, I don’t want it.” 

Nacyri sighed. She’d expected this. “Alexis, if he kills me, he will stop at nothing to get you home. In order to escape and stay free, you are going to need money. A lot more money than what you currently have. Money that will be of absolutely no use to me, if I’m dead.” 

Her voice wobbled, face pale and stricken. “It’ll be blood money, Nacyri. Every time I go to the store to buy groceries, I’ll have to face the fact that the reason I am able to eat is because of your _murder._ I won’t. I don’t want to.” Tears flowed out of her eyes in rivers. “How could you… Why would you even do that? Why would you help me? When he… When my _father,_ ” she spat out the word, coated in sickly globs of guilt and pain, “is the one trying to hurt you?” 

Nacyri reached for her trusty box of tissues before easing out of her chair and crossing the room. “Because you are not Hyuon Iffitzi. You are Alexis Iffitzi. You are precious, and you deserve to choose the life you want to live.” 

Alexis cried harder. 

“I won’t force you,” Nacyri said. She squatted down in front of the chair, smiling kindly into the teen’s snotty face. “But I would like you to accept it. If it makes you feel better, I consider it my private revenge against your father to ensure you are flourishing safely outside his grasp.” 

Nacyri held out the tissues. 

“Would you do that for me?” the older woman asked. 

Alexis grabbed a fistful of them, smushing her face into them. She breathed in and out, using a technique that Nacyri recognised as one she’d taught to the girl. At that moment, the psychologist felt so very proud. 

After a few minutes, Alexis nodded. “Okay.” The tissues, bunched in her clumsy hand, were used to wipe away the mucus and the tears. “I’ll accept it.” 

“Thank you,” Nacyri put her hand on Alexis’ free one. “I appreciate it.” 

“What do you even have to be thankful for?” Alexis grumbled. “I’m the only one receiving benefits in this scenario.” 

Nacyri just laughed. 

“So,” Alexis murmured, “apart from the… the will... is there anything you need me to do? Do you have some kind of plan?” 

Nacyri squeezed her hand. “It’s not much,” she said, “but I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say...” 

That night, Nacyri fell into the bath. Soap bubbles and strands of pale white hair floated around her, the water warm and thick and laced with Epsom salts. The day haunted her. _“The way I conduct myself… The testimony I give… It is up to you.”_

She was a coward. Taking her decision, forcing it on a poor man who already had enough to deal with, all because she didn’t want to bear responsibility for her actions. _That was despicable of me._

She thought of his answer, the way it sent nerves fluttering through her belly. It was getting harder to calm her beating heart. It was getting harder to stay objective. 

_Well, I did say I’d leave it up to him..._ She intended to keep her word. 

Nacyri filled her lungs and submerged. The water rushed to claim her, pressing at every orifice, trying to fill each pore until she was completely one with it. 

It was so warm and pleasant, like a good hug. 

Everything was muffled, here. 

Even her thoughts seemed that little bit quieter, some of her anxiety dissolving into the salt. 

A hug would be nice, actually. She’d ask Mitsuki if they could come over for cuddles, but it was already late and, when Nacyri wasn’t being a terrible influence and there weren’t any Arena matches to capture their interest, the good doctor was passed out by 8:30PM. 

She sighed, feeling the air bubbles escape. There was still so much work to do. Papers to look through, notes to decipher, collaboration work with Antony… when all she wanted was to fade away into some pocket dimension and sleep for a good few years. 

She needed to get a better grasp of the situation, if possible. There were very few people she trusted with this, but she’d make a few calls tomorrow. Because knowledge was power. She needed as much information as possible, so she could make an appropriate plan. 

For all she knew, Robert had lied to her. Maybe neither of the men she’d met today were in Iffitzi’s pocket. He could be manipulating her into thinking that there was no point in defying him, that everybody was an enemy when, in fact, they were actually a potential ally. 

Her lungs were beginning to ache, so Nacyri let out a little more air. What was the lawyer’s name again? Grayson Pierce? She should try calling. 

Or maybe she could ask her lawyer about him first. She’d worked with Suzetta before, and felt reasonably confident in her ability to keep a secret. 

...Speaking of people she needed to talk to, Rosenna still hadn’t returned her calls and Nacyri was growing genuinely worried. She wasn’t the type to leave people hanging for days.

Her lungs were screaming now but she stayed under. Just a little longer... She wanted to hold onto the quiet, the static that distorted her thoughts while her body fought for air... 

But even she couldn’t fight her instincts forever. 

Nacyri resurfaced with gasp, chest slick and heaving. The white of her bathroom seemed especially bright after so long in the intrinsic grey.

She rested her head against the porcelain rim of the tub as her body reoxygenated, waiting for her pulse to settle before reaching for her phone. 

As expected, her step-mother’s number rang out into ominous silence. Nacyri’s teeth sank into her lip. 

Had something happened to her and Stephen? She’d assumed they would be safe in a different country. Had Hyuon Iffitzi targeted them in a bid to get her to behave? The thought gave her goosebumps, despite the warm bath. It was almost enough to make Nacyri call her father. 

_Ugh, I really don’t want to, though…_ she thought. She’d already gone through enough today. 

Instead, she called somebody else. 

_I’ll contact Stephen tomorrow. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll have to assume the worst._

He picked up on the second ring. “My favourite Doc. What are you doing this fine evening?” It was on a complete whim, an almost unconscious thing, so hearing his voice through the speakerphone pulled her back to something resembling common sense. 

_What the hell am I doing?_

“Hello?” 

Anddddd panic. Retreat. “Ah, I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I should hang up.” 

Hisoka chuckled, and she felt it physically. “ _Or_ you could tell me why you called.” 

Her face went hot. Even her voice was flushed with embarrassment. It was the water, surely. Heat improved blood circulation, after all. “I… No, never mind. Good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He was silent for several heartbeats. “Were you going to ask me to _come over,_ Doc?” He crooned. “At this hour?” 

She scrunched her nose. From his scandalised tone, one would expect she’d outright asked him to have sex with her. “No,” she lied. 

He ignored her, as per usual. “Are you at your apartment? _Should_ I come over?” 

Nacyri was quiet. Conflicted. Maybe even a little overwhelmed. She’d gone through so much in such a short span. She wouldn’t break - she wasn’t at that point yet, but she felt _tired._ Human. 

Was it so wrong to want a hug from somebody who wouldn’t be put in immediate danger from their closeness? Who wouldn’t be used as blackmail to ensure her cooperation? 

All these boundaries and rules that she had set for herself dictated that _no,_ Hisoka definitely should not come over. However, boundaries could be adjusted, so long as there was appropriate knowledge and consent. 

He apparently took her silence and a yes. “I’ll be there soon.” 

But silence did not equal consent. She needed to tell him, to let him know. “Hisoka, wai-” 

The line went dead. 

Nacyri scowled with irritation, tossing her phone back onto the bathroom vanity. Then she laughed. “Hahh, at least you’re consistent,” she mumbled into the silence. And sank beneath the water once more. 

She changed back into her mock neck longsleeve and midi skirt for three reasons. Firstly, they were in a place of convenience (crumpled up on the floor by the bathtub). Secondly, she had no idea when he would arrive, and was quite eager to avoid another instance of being naked in front of him. Thirdly, she was going to take her clothes off the moment Hisoka left her apartment, and the thought of adding extra washing to her laundry load made her feel faintly ill. She _definitely_ didn’t do it, fourthly, because the black and white ensemble looked especially good on her.

As it turned out, she could have safely risked the walk to her bedroom. About ten minutes after her call, the sounds of her apartment being broken into found Nacyri on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the wall and the light on its dimmest setting (the normal brightness had given her a headache). 

Hisoka smirked as he slipped into the room. “What a pity. You’re wearing clothes, this time.” 

Nacyri smiled thinly. “So pleased to displease you,” she said, but her voice didn’t have any bite to it. 

“But what clothes,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the white of her pleated skirt. “And what a skirt.” 

She didn’t bite at his teasing, which he must have found disconcerting, because he didn’t tease her about anything else. 

Instead, he sat across from her slowly, settling into position with a caution she was unused to. The wall was solid against her back. “It’s quite unusual for you to invite me to your apartment,” he said. 

“If you recall, I didn’t invite you,” Nacyri pointed out. “You invited yourself. Again.” 

“Ah, but you were _about_ to invite me,” Hisoka tilted his pretty face at her. 

“Until my better judgement kicked in,” she half-conceded. Her fingers drew little circles in the carpet. “But here you are.” 

“Here I am,” he agreed softly. 

Silence descended on the both of them. She was tired, so she didn’t mind it as much as she might have normally. 

“Do you…” he seemed to be searching for the words, “want to talk about it?” Hisoka asked. “About whatever it is that inspired you to invite me here? To your apartment. Late at night.” He winked at her suggestively. 

Nacyri giggled. “‘Wanna talk about it?’ Pfft, it sounds so funny when you say it. And-” 

“‘You didn’t invite me’, yes, I know.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “For somebody who hates people dancing around the point, you’re rather skilled at it.” 

“Oh, so you noticed that?” Ah, a little bit of her sass was back. 

He smirked a little. “Obviously. Now, talk.” He gestured at her vaguely. “I’ll be the therapist, for once. I like roleplay.” He pulled an imaginary notebook and pen from behind him, settling down with an exaggeratedly attentive expression. 

Nacyri snorted at his antics. He was trying to help, in his own way, and she appreciated that. But the things that were bothering her directly involved him, and she still hadn’t figured out how best to approach that. “I’d rather not talk about it right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Mmhmm, sure. Consent, etcetera, etcetera, it’s very important and all that- Look, Doc, aren’t I doing a _fantastic_ impression of you?” 

She giggled again. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculous? I think I’ve found my true calling.” 

She laughed harder. Hard enough that her eyes were starting to water. “Yes, you’re a natural. Being emotionally available and supportive looks good on you.” 

“Ah,” his face twisted into something a little unsure, uncharacteristically shy and utterly contrived, “I’m sorry, but commenting on my appearance is a little inappropriate. This is a strictly professional relationship, after all.” 

Her shoulders were shaking. That cheeky little shit. “My sincerest apologies, Hisoka. It won’t happen again.” Her eyes were watering too much.

“Please,” he said graciously, “call me Dr Morow.” 

Utterly ridiculous. Nacyri lost it. Full belly laughs, head thrown back, eyes moist. She should have expected this - the world would burn down around them and Hisoka would be waiting with a well-timed quip. In some ways, it was funnier because what he offered was exactly what she needed: a listening ear, somebody she could trust and depend on. But it was all for show, all a game to him. A role to play. Which was somehow also quite upsetting. 

Salty tears seeped from her closed eyes- Wait, she was crying for real? Damn it… Caught off-guard for mere moments, and her emotions seized the opportunity to overwhelm her. 

Hisoka snapped to attention, eyes tracking the tears that silently slipped down her cheeks. Just two of them, but she couldn’t take them back now they’d escaped. “Doc?” 

She heaved an audible sigh. Fucking hell, of all the times to cry. “Is it… Can I have a hug?” Nacyri asked tentatively. 

A thin eyebrow arched. “Sure,” he drawled, but made no move towards her. 

She should have expected it, really. She was always the one moving closer to him. 

She didn’t have the energy nor the care to stand and walk, so she crawled over on her hands and knees. There was not an ounce of sexuality in the motion, inspired mostly by exhaustion and laziness. She came to a stop just in front of him. It wasn’t hesitation, but a deliberate move. 

The eyes that watched her were full of something she couldn’t quite identify. 

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she asked. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he tilted his head, grinning suddenly. “But you might be.” 

Nacyri didn’t buy it. It felt too much like bravado, no substance behind it. 

She put her arms around him gingerly. It wasn’t quite comfortable - his shoulders dug into her arms, hard with muscle. Hisoka stayed stiff and rigid. It was like hugging a marble statue. 

But still, it was a hug. 

Nacyri made a decision, retracting her arms so she could worm them beneath his. She shifted close and squeezed, face nestling about the crook of his neck, tears smearing. His trapezius muscle was warm and alive between her cheek as she inhaled. Fuck, he smelled good. Somebody should make a candle out of his scent and sell it as Arena merch, or something. She could just feel her body relaxing, slowly going pliant around his, the tension of the last few days releasing with her every exhale. 

He tensed. Then, movement. A soft scrape of nails at her back as the statue came to life, arms encasing her. 

“You’re upset, right?” he asked. “Why?” 

She squeezed him tighter. “I’d _really_ prefer not to talk about it.” 

“Would you prefer not to think about it?” 

Her laugh was a mere half-octave away from a sob. “That too.” 

Before she could react or protest, his hands spanned her ribcage and her body was lifted and repositioned, settled in his lap with her knees on either side of his hips. Nacyri blinked, still a half-beat behind. “Then, let me fuck you.” 

She should have thought out the skirt more, Nacyri realised, as there were now very few layers between them. The cotton of his pants were soft on the skin of her inner thighs, and she was now even more aware of their bodies, how they curved and complemented each other. How she could feel so much of him. How, if she sank down just a little, she’d feel even more. Maybe a hug wasn’t the smartest move. “Mmm, no,” Nacyri shook her head, trying to hide the fondness in her smile. This asshole… Unfortunately for him, she’d kicked her habit of fucking her sorrows into one night stands years ago. 

Or so she told herself. 

“I’ll help you forget,” he offered unhelpfully. She shivered as his nails played with the hem of her skirt. Until now, it had felt like an entirely professional length. Now, she wasn’t so sure. “I’ll make you forget your own name, even.” 

Her laugh was a puff of breath against neck. “Hahhh…” she sighed. “You really are consistent,” she murmured. 

She was aware she was pushing it. Aware that she wasn’t exactly playing fair. 

But she’d been unfair all day. “You know I only asked for a hug, right?” 

“Mmmmm…” His fingers traced the outside of her thigh gently. Still beneath the skirt. Honestly, he was being very good right now. 

“You know that I’m a little vulnerable, right?” 

“I gathered as much.” The tips of his nails finally teased beneath the cloth. By a mere hairsbreadth. Testing the boundaries. 

She groaned in frustration. It felt good to have a human body to wrap around. But still… “You wouldn’t take advantage of that, would you?” It was posed as a question, but it was more of a warning. 

He laughed softly, “Oh, I really would.” 

“Hisoka, don’t joke around.”

“I’m being completely serious.” 

“Hisoka…” she sighed. “Having sex with you will not make my problems go away. She paused. “In fact, they may add to them.” 

“If you’re already dealing with so many, one extra won’t matter all that much.” 

She pulled back at his tone, frowning slightly. His eyes were slightly luminous, even in the dim light. A flickering fire in the distance. Inviting, sure. But it was stupid to put her hand in the flames and expect them not to burn. 

She grabbed his hands. Trapped them before they could take any more liberties. The skin on the outside was soft beneath her fingertips, though his palms had the thick callouses of a warrior. Or an aerial artist. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for allowing me to hug you. I feel a lot better.” It was, she realised, somewhat true. _Would you look at that?_

But when she went to pull his hands away, he resisted slightly. 

“Hisoka…” 

“You want me too.” The velvety, coaxing words did not dull their hammer-like impact. “I can see it.” He shifted forward, and suddenly their bodies, the lines she’d worked so hard to keep separate, overlapped and blurred. His face found the crook of her neck, mimicking what she’d done just a minute earlier, and her skin erupted with tingling goosebumps. Oh, she’d been _really_ unfair, asking him to endure this. “Sometimes,” he murmured into her neck, lips brushing against skin, “I can even smell it.” 

She jolted. 

Hisoka, expecting it, tightened his hands around her thighs, pulled her impossibly closer and _down._

Nacyri made a noise, hands gripping his. For support or restraint, she wasn’t sure. Of course, she was aware of her attraction to him, but it was something else entirely to be so viscerally confronted with it. And now... _Damn it… Of all the times I wear a skirt…_ Everything about him was hard and unyielding and she felt it _intimately._ Even the warm breath against her neck felt like the gust of a cyclone, powerful and merciless, enough to blow her willpower away. Almost. 

“I do want you.” Nacyri admitted. Her voice was calm, despite her burning face. She was trying to be as still as possible. Even little movements would grind down on the erection straining against his pants, and she was trying so very hard not to escalate this. “But there is an important distinction between wanting something and stretching out your hand to take it. Not everything we desire is healthy for us or worth the consequences.” 

“Are you saying I’m not worth it?” his voice was teasing, light. A flawless lie. 

Nacyri’s breath came hard. Ah, this was the worst. Vulnerability deserved reassurance, but she couldn’t just lie back. _Gods, what do I even say?_ “I did not say that.” 

“You implied it.” His face, when he pulled back, was a mask once again. 

She bit her lip. “Hisoka, there is a part of you that wants to _hurt_ me. Badly.” Emotion swelled, all the emotion of the last week that had been building and building, until it felt like she was drowning. 

“I _saved_ you,” he said. 

“And I am so grateful,” Nacyri replied. She was proud that her voice barely trembled. “Truly, I am. But good, decent, healthy relationships - in whatever form they take - require sustained effort. Forgive me for being cautious, for protecting myself, but I cannot blindly trust that you will handle me with the care and respect I deserve. _Especially,_ given your track record-” 

He kissed her.

It was sweet and unexpected, so completely unlike any of the other kisses he had forced on her that Nacyri was defenseless against it.

His lips were always so much softer than hers, all chapped and torn by teeth. When his tongue slipped into her mouth it was slow and sensual. Teasing.

She inhaled, trying to clear her head, but all she could smell was his sweet-spiced, musky scent that clouded her judgement a little too effectively and sent warm desire dripping through her body till it pooled at her centre. 

As the subtle notes of her lust perfumed the air, Hisoka growled. Flush as she was, she felt the noise through her entire body, eliciting her own soft gasp.

He took it as encouragement, grinding into her, white cotton rubbing against white lace, his hands sliding up to smooth over her ass, to tease at the lace of her panties-

“Wait, stop!” she snapped back to reason, grabbing his hands once more. She tried to pull them away from her tingling skin, but he resisted again. 

“Doc.” Hisoka looked decidedly unamused. 

“Hisoka.” She could see it in his eyes, that he was seriously considering continuing, despite what she had said. For a second she wondered, truly wondered, if, on top of everything else today, she would be forced to use her Hatsu. “Please.” 

“Fine.” He let her pull his hands away, smiling widely. She didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust his smile. She shifted away and stood cautiously, feeling the loss of his heat twice as much in the cool of her bedroom. 

The moment she was free, he picked himself off the floor and gracefully walked to the window. 

“Wait, Hisoka,” Nacyri called. He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn to look at her. “Thank you,” she said. It felt like speaking into the wind. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for trying to help. I appreciate it.” 

“No problem, Doc.” The mocking words lingered long after he disappeared. “It was my _pleasure._ ” 

She stared out her empty window, feeling even more complicated than she had when he arrived. _Why am I even surprised?_ she thought tiredly. _I should have expected this._

Nacyri collapsed onto the bed, clothes and all, ignoring the fact that her body was still tingling in every place that he’d touched her. “Damn it,” she sighed. “I’m never wearing skirts again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Mild NSFW warning for the image below)
> 
> Here you go. All 7322 words :) 
> 
> I promise I honestly tried to post within two weeks but I underestimated how much this chapter would kick my ass. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> @ Birdonahotdog, I finally got around to your cameo! I figured that, if anybody had a loving dad in this fic, it should be your character aha. 
> 
> Also, Hisoka_M made the most stunning fanart. It wasn't specifically for this chapter, but it fits and y'all deserve it. 
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/3fC7hbK)  
> [cursive font copy and paste](https://usefulwebtool.com/)  
> They have an artist account on Instagram, with another, more NSFW but hella beautiful Nacyri x Hisoka piece. Go check her out! @just_a_bit_of_honey 
> 
> Thank you to thatonepeach for re-reading so many fricking times. This chapter abused us, but I think it was worth the pain aha. You're the best <3
> 
> Finally, thank you so much to everybody who comments, shares art, reaches out, and engages. It is the fuel I burn at 3AM, when the battle for words rages. I know that engaging can take up surprising amounts of energy, so thank you. I cherish you all immensely. Please take care of your mental health. 
> 
> I'll see y'all next chapter.


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